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OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OB 

Kate  Gordon  Koore 


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Folk-Ballads    of 
Southern    Europe 

Translated  into  English  Verse 


By 

Sophie   Jewett 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 
Zbe    iJnickerbocher    press 

1913 


Copyright,  1913 

BY 

LOUISE    R.    JEWETT 


Ube  "Rnicfterbocher  iprcss,  IRew  ]9orh 


134/ 
Js-S 


PREFACE 

THIS  illustrative  selection,  with  translation,  of 
the  ballads  of  Southern  Europe  grew  quite 
simply  from  the  effort  to  put  into  the  hands  of  suc- 
cessive classes  of  Wellesley  College  students,  study- 
ing English  and  Scottish  popular  ballads,  analogous 
Continental  folk-songs.  Miss  Jewett  could  easily 
bring  to  her  classroom  German  ballads,  as  well 
as  Scandinavian  ballads  in  German  and  English 
translation,  but  for  originals  of  many  of  the  South- 
em  analogues  summarized  in  Professor  Child's 
encyclopaedic  collection,  which  she  deemed  "as 
nearly  perfect  as  is  possible  to  any  human  achieve- 
ment, "  she  had  to  seek  out,  in  the  rich  libraries  of 
Boston  and  of  Harvard,  rare  editions  and  old 
numbers  of  foreign  reviews.  The  ballads  so  found 
were  often  in  provincial  dialects  that  might  have 
v^  baffled  a  less  eager  scholar,  but  it  became  one  of 

r  her  happiest  pursuits  to  hunt  down  their  inmost 

^  meaning  and  re-phrase  it,  poet  that  she  was,  in 

her  own  sympathetic  translation.     For  the  Rou- 
manian    ballads,    although    she    pored    over   the 
originals,  she  had  to  depend,  in  the  main,  upon 
3  French  translation,  which  was  usually  available, 

f^  too,  for  the  Gascon  and  Breton.     Italian,  which  she 

iii 


v;/l'.r^>(;'2 


x 


iv  Preface 

knew  well,  guided  her  through  obscure  dialects  of 
Italy  and  Sicily,  but  Castilian,  Portuguese,  and 
Catalan  she  puzzled  out  for  herself  with  such 
natural  insight  that  the  experts  to  whom  these 
translations  have  been  submitted  found  hardly 
a  word  to  change.  "After  all,"  as  she  herself 
wrote,  "ballads  are  simple  things,  and  require, 
as  a  rule,  but  a  limited  vocabulary,  though  a  pe- 
culiarly idiomatic  one." 

In  the  summer  of  1909,  when  Miss  Jewett  was 
silently  facing  the  crisis  that  resulted  in  death,  she 
revised  these  ballad  translations  and,  on  going  to 
the  hospital,  left  a  written  request  that,  if  need  be, 
I  should,  in  case  it  seemed  wise  to  publish  them, 
prepare  them  for  the  press.  At  my  first  opportun- 
ity, late  in  coming,  I  searched  out  again  the  original 
texts  and  verified  her  copies.  These  texts  are  often 
irregular  in  punctuation,  use  of  quotation  points, 
and  the  like,  but  it  has  seemed  the  safer  method 
to  reproduce  them,  as  a  rule,  exactly  as  they  stand 
in  the  books  from  which  they  are  taken.  The 
order  of  the  ballads  I  determined,  as  best  I 
could,  from  scattered  memoranda  among  her  bal- 
lad papers.  From  these  papers,  too,  I  was  fortu- 
nately able  to  glean,  here  and  there,  the  material 
shaped  into  the  following  Introduction.  In  the 
brief  annotation,  for  which  her  memoranda  still 
afforded  help,  I  have  attempted  little  beyond  the 
suggestion  of  the  English  analogues,  though  I 
have  used  the  notes  as  an  opportimity  for  intro- 
ducing her  various  snatches  of  lyrical  translation 


Preface  V 

from  these  same  folk-song  volumes.  These  snatches, 
often  lightly  pencilled  on  a  library  slip,  were 
found  among  her  copies  of  ballad  texts. 

Katharine  Lee  Bates. 

Wellesley  College,  Mass. 
June  J,  igi2. 


CONTENTS 


Introduction       ..... 

BALLADS  OF  LOVE 
The  Sun  and  the  Moon.     (Roumanian) 
The  Noble  Sibilla.     (Sicilian) 
The  Sailor.     (Catalan) 
The  Corsair.     (Piedmontesc) 
The  IMoor  Saracen.     (Piedmontese)    . 
Cribete.     (Gascon) 
Count  Sol.     (CastUia7i) 
The  Pilgrim.     (Portuguese)    . 
Hero  and  Leander.     (Piedmontese) 
The  Test.     (Piedmontese) 
Pierre  of  Grenoble.     (French) 
The  Dead  Bride.     (Piedmontese 
Catalinota.     (Piedmontese)  . 
Bridal  Dance  and  Funeral.     (Piedmontese) 
Flowers  from  the  Grave.     (Piedmontese) 


22 

30 

40 

44 
46 

50 

54 
62 
68 
70 
72 
76 
78 
80 
82 


viii  Contents 

PAGE 

The  Two  Graves.     (Piedmontese)            .         .  84 

Count  Arnaud.     (Gascon)     ....  86 

Count  Anzolino.     (Venetian)         ...  90 

The  Ring.     (Neapolitan)        ....  94 

The  Shrine  of  San  Simon.     (Castilian)           .  96 

The  Maiden  in  the  Garden  of  Love.    (French)  98 

The  Bird  Messenger.     (Piedmontese)    .         .  100 

The  King's  Son.     (Gascon)    ....  102 

Adieu,  Margueridette.     (Gascon)         .          .  104 

BALLADS  OF  MURDER 

Donna  Lombarda.     (Piedmontese)  .         .112 

The  Poisoned  Lover.     (Piedmontese)     .         -114 

The     Maiden     of     Saint-Martin-de-l*Ile. 

(French)  .  .  .  .  .  .124 

The  Murder  of  the  Sweetheart.     (French)     128 

Fair  Jeanneton.     (French)   ....     132 

A  Heroine.     (Piedmontese)    .         .         .         -134 

The  Ballad  of  Rico  Franco.     (Castilian)      .     138 

Count  Gari,     (Catalan)         .  .  .  .142 

Lament  of  Maria  Felice  di  Calacuccia  for 

the  Death  of  her  Brother.      (Corsican)     144 

The  Marquise.     (French)      ....     148 


Contents  ix 

PAGE 

BALLADS  OF  PRISONERS 

BujOR.     (Roumanian)    .         .         .         .         .154 

The  Brothers  Fra  DiAVOLi.     (Sicilian)         .     i6o 

The      Three      Students      of      Toulouse. 

(Piedmontese)  .  .  .  .  .164 

The  Lads  of  Guerande.     (French)         .         .     168 

Shalga.     (Roumanian)  .  .  .  .170 

BIBLICAL  AND  APOCRYPHAL  BALLADS 

The  Flight  into  Egypt.     (Provengal)  .  .     180 

Mary  Magdalene.     (Provengal)    .  .  .188 

Saint  Mary  Magdalene.     (Catalan)  .  .     192 

The  Samaritan  Woman.     (Catalan)  .  .     200 

The  Wicked  Rich  Man.     (Provencal)  .  .     204 

The  Wicked  Rich   Man  and   the   Beggar. 

(Catalan)  ......     208 

The  Prodigal  Son.     (Sicilian)  .         .     210 

Saint  James  of  Galicia.     (Catalan)        .         .     218 

BALLADS  OF  THE  SUPERNATURAL 

Count  Arnold.     (Catalan)    ....     226 

The  Song  of  the  Lost  Soul.     (French)  .     244 

The  Young  Girl  and  her   Mother's  Soul. 

(Breton) 246 

The  Dead  Mother  Restored.     (Piedmontese)     250 


Contents 


PAGE 


The  Mother's  Curse.     (Piedmontese)    .          .  252 

The  Accursed.     (Gascon)      ....  254 

The    Voice    from    Underground.      {Modern 

Greek)    .......  258 

The  Little  Lamb.     (Roumanian)  .         .         .  260 

Notes 271 


Folk-Ballads  of  Southern  Europe 


Folk-Ballads  of  Southern 
Europe 


INTRODUCTION 

SINCE  the  days  of  Southey's  sojourn  in  the 
Peninsula  certain  Spanish  ballads  have  been 
familiar  in  English  verse;  and  Lockhart's  Spanish 
Ballads  are  almost  as  indispensable  a  part  of  one's 
early  memories  as  are  the  lays  of  Robin  Hood. 

But  Lockhart's  ballads,  like  the  originals  from 
which  they  are  translated,  are  only  half  "popular. " 
In  the  Castilian,  as  in  the  English,  there  are  book- 
ish phrases  and  many  a  trace  of  courtly  or  school 
poetry.  The  French  and  Italian  popular  ballads 
have  gained  perhaps  more  than  they  have  suffered 
by  the  fact  that  they  have  been  collected  since  the 
time  when  improving  and  completing  were  admis- 
sible parts  of  an  editor's  task.  Baldness,  frag- 
mentariness,  inconsequence  are  marks  of  genuine 
transmission ;  while  the  variety  without  inventive- 
ness displayed  by  a  ballad  that  is  found  in  a  dozen 
different  dialects  is  curiously  interesting.  Some- 
times it  suggests  a  typical  provincial  trait;  some- 


2      FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKern  Europe 

times  the  reader  fancies,  if  he  lets  himself  fancy, 
that  he  catches  the  tone  of  unconscious  individual- 
ity given  by  the  particular  peasant  who  repeated 
the  particular  song.  The  last  point  is  too  elusive 
to  merit  serious  demonstration,  but  the  former  is 
a  constant  pleasure  to  one  who  turns  the  pages  of 
Tuscan,  Venetian,  Sicilian,  Neapolitan,  Piedmon- 
tese  collections;  or  who  follows  a  ballad  through 
its  Provencal,  Catalan,  and  Gascon  versions. 

This  selection  of  ballads  is  too  small  to  make 
possible  any  accurate  comparison  of  Romance 
with  Germanic  ballads,  and,  moreover,  it  especially 
includes  ballads  that  occur  in  both  groups.  All 
that  such  an  attempt  at  comparison  could  do  would 
be  to  note  certain  differences  of  form  and  of  em- 
phasis. Both  in  form  and  in  subject  one  finds  the 
same  "stock  material."  Since  all  the  ballads 
here  given  are  to  some  degree  analogues  of  British 
ballads  they  may  be  said  to  be  all  made  of  stock 
material.  The  most  frequently  recurring  situa- 
tions, so  far  as  I  have  found,  are  those  of  the 
stealing  of  a  bride  or  maiden ;  the  feigning  of  death 
by  a  girl  or  lover;  the  test  to  prove  the  faithful- 
ness of  wife  or  lover;  the  pursuit  of  unreturning 
husband  or  lover;  the  effectiveness  of  omen  or 
curse;  the  return  of  the  dead  to  speak  with  the 
living.  Among  lesser  but  characteristic  repeated 
traits  are  the  magic  power  of  music,  the  growth 
of  flowers  and  trees  from  the  graves  of  buried 
lovers,  and  the  speech  of  inarticulate  things. 
The  resemblances  in  form  are  no  less  marked. 


Introdviction  3 

There  is  the  ballad  which  consists  of  riddling 
answer  or  repartee,  as  Adieu,  Margueridette;  the 
ballad  that  is  built  out  by  the  slightest  addition 
from  stanza  to  stanza  with  what  Professor  Gum- 
mere  calls  "incremental  repetition,"  as  Count 
Arnold;  the  dramatic,  dialogue  ballad,  as  Donna 
Lombarda  and  The  Poisoned  Lover;  the  ballad  run- 
ning with  a  refrain,  as  TJie  Corsair;  the  lyrical  bal- 
lad that  is  scarcely  more  than  a  song,  as  The  Ring; 
the  epic  ballad  that  relates  adventure,  as  Count  Sol. 
It  is,  perhaps,  more  interesting  to  notice  the 
ways  in  which  the  ballads  of  Romance  countries 
differ  from  those  of  the  North.  I  have  found 
fewer  long  narrative  ballads;  on  the  other  hand, 
the  dramatic  ballad,  which  is  so  noble  in  the  British 
collections  and  quite  as  frequent  there  as  the  nar- 
rative ballad,  is  in  Southern  folk-song  even  more 
noteworthy.  Edward  Edward,  Lord  Randal,  and 
Donna  Lombarda  illustrate  the  best  that  is  possible 
to  the  dramatic  ballad.  If  they  do  not  interest 
and  thrill  us,  we  may  as  well  give  over  the  study 
of  balladry,  for  it  will  not  yield  us  greater  examples. 
If  we  respond,  on  the  other  hand,  to  the  appeal 
of  these  old  songs,  they  "tease  us  out  of  thought, " 
as  Keats  says,  with  desire  to  know  more  of  a 
poetry  that  has  persisted  for  centuries  with  no 
aid  from  scholar  or  printer.  We  think  of  Edward 
Edward  as  chanted  beside  a  highland  fire  of  a 
winter  night,  of  Donna  Lombarda  sung  by  peasants 
resting  in  the  hot  vineyards  of  "the  district  of 
Pisa"  waiting  for  the  sea- wind  to  come  at  sunset, 


4       FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitHern  Exirope 

or  perhaps,  far  earlier,  in  the  sultry  meadows 
within  sight  of  Ravenna,  where  the  memory  of 
Queen  Rosamund  stalks  like  an  unlaid  ghost. 

The  first  and  largest  group  of  ballads  here  given 
has  to  do  with  love,  for  in  the  faith  of  the  true 
ballad-maker  men  have  died,  and  women,  for 
sheer  love  of tener  than  for  other  causes ;  and  many 
times  their  deaths  are  told  with  sincere  emotion. 
Count  Arnaud's  lady  is  as  simply  tragic  as  Brun- 
hilde  or  Deirdre,  and  Catalinota  is  as  pathetic  as 
Catarina.  These  ballads  of  death  for  love  are  not, 
however,  always  tragic  nor  even  truly  pathetic, 
but  run  all  along  from  the  fateful  to  the  incon- 
sequent and  absurd,  more  than  once  strongly 
suggesting  parody. 

Though  the  man  of  the  ballads  is  frequently 
both  faithful  and  heroic,  it  is  the  woman  to  whom 
most  often  love  is  a  thing  to  live  and  to  die  for. 
There  are  coquettes  among  the  ballad  women,  but 
they  are  fewer  than  the  faithful  maidens  and 
wives.  The  typical  woman  of  the  ballads,  north 
or  south,  waits  for  her  lover,  follows  him,  dies  of 
longing  for  him,  or  takes  her  own  Hfe  when  she  has 
lost  him.  Among  the  best  narrative  ballads  of 
lovers  are  those  in  which  the  lady  is  stolen  by 
brigand  or  Saracen,  and  rescued  by  her  Christian 
husband  or  lover.  There  is  a  great  group  of  vari- 
ants of  the  story  of  the  bride  carried  away  by  a 
Moorish  king  and  rescued  by  her  husband  after 
many  years.  These  ballads  are  so  excellent  that 
it  is  difficult  to  choose  among  them.     Count  Nigra 


Introdviction  5 

has  made  an  exhaustive  study  of  the  whole  group, 
giving  (in  his  Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte,  No.  40, 
//  Moro  Saracino)  about  thirty  versions.  The 
Gascon  version  (Cribete)  given  by  M.  Blade  seems 
to  me  to  possess  almost  all  the  excellencies  of 
which  narrative  ballad  is  capable — swiftness  of 
action,  differentiation  of  character,  irony,  pathos, 
and  tragedy.  The  refrain  of  this  ballad  would 
seem  too  artistic  to  be  popular,  were  not  so  many 
haunting  strains  of  lyric  found  among  the  Songs 
of  the  Soil.  It  is  not  perhaps  more  unexpected 
than  the  bride's  reply  to  the  Moor  in  the  Pied- 
montese  version:  "He  cannot  be  of  my  country. 
The  birds  of  the  air  cannot  come  here ;  unless  it  be 
the  swallow  who  flies  all  day. " 

In  this  group  of  love-ballads  the  transition  is 
from  ballads  of  love  adventure  by  sea  and  land  to 
those  of  untimely  death  for  love,  culminating  in 
the  haunting  phrases  of  Count  Anzolino,  and  then 
to  folk-song  of  a  lighter  strain.  The  Scottish  ballad 
is  at  its  best  when  it  has  to  do  with  tragedy.' 
Dialogue  like  Edward  Edward,  narrative  like 
The  Mother's  Malison,  lyric  lament  like  Bonny 
George  Campbell  best  illustrate  its  passion  and 
its  music.  Even  across  the  southern  border  the 
great  exception  is  that  of  the  Robin  Hood  ballads.  / 
Apart  from  their  splendid  exhibition  of  humors, 
wit,  gayety,  daring,  and  generosity,  most  English 
ballads  that  rise  to  excellence  are  sorrowful.  Of 
purely  idyllic  quality,  of  pathos  without  tragedy, 
of  gayety  without  grossness,  there  is  but  little. 


6       FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  Exarope 

It  is  natural  that  the  Southern  ballad,  even 
when  genuinely  popular  in  origin,  should  offer 
illustrations  of  a  temperament  more  lightly  chang- 
ing, of  a  sentiment  more  delicate  and  more  self- 
conscious.  The  popular  poet  of  the  South  can, 
if  he  please,  jest  daintily. 

Closely  related  to  the  ballads  of  love  are  the 
ballads  of  murder,  for  except  in  the  lays  of  border 
warfare  and  bandit  life  the  ballad  of  murder  is 
almost  always  a  ballad  of  love  and  of  jealousy. 
Although  all  European  ballads  of  this  class  have 
much  similarity  of  motif  and  situation,  unpre- 
meditated murder  is  far  more  frequent  in  Southern 
folk-song  than  in  Northern.  Murder  and  suicide 
of  lovers,  wife  murder  and  husband  murder,  in 
even  so  northern  a  collection  as  Count  Nigra's 
Canti  del  Piemonte,  suggest  the  social  world  of 
I  Pagliacci  and  Cavalleria  Rusticana.  Sometimes 
in  their  cold-blooded  brevity  these  ballads  read 
like  the  Italian  daily  papers.  The  ballad  tale 
in  which  the  husband  murders  the  wife  is  very 
common  on  the  Continent.  The  story  of  most  of 
these  ballads  of  slain  women  is  summed  up  in  a 
terrible  bit  of  conversation  in  Margherita  {Canti 
del  Piemonte,  No.  32) : 

'"Pardon  me,  my  husband;  I  am  not  by  any 
means  the  first  woman  who  has  been  untrue  to  her 
husband.  * 

"'You  are  not  the  first  woman  who  has  been 
untrue  to  her  husband ;  neither  am  I  the  first  man 
to  kill  his  wife.'" 


Introdviction  7 

In  the  murder-ballads  the  victim  dies  oftenest, 
perhaps,  by  the  sword,  but  many  times  the  death 
is  from  poisoned  drink  or  food.  In  one  rather 
modem  French  ballad  {La  Marquise)  the  lady 
dies  from  the  gift  of  poisoned  flowers — not  the 
only  instance  where  a  ballad  seems  to  present  the 
folk-version  of  some  historic  crime.  Murder  by 
the  poison  of  serpents  is  a  frequent  motif,  as  in 
The  Poisoned  Lover,  where  venomous  snakes  were 
served  for  supper  under  the  guise  of  eels.  This 
ballad  belongs  in  its  central  theme  to  most  ancient 
and  persistent  romance.  Who  is  the  pitiless  lady 
of  the  greenwood?  Is  she  some  popular  version 
of  La  Belle  Dame  sans  Merci,  whose  love  is  fatar 
to  him  who  meets  with  her?  In  addition  to  this 
tragic  figure,  known  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Europe,  of  the  lover  who  has  supped 
with  his  false  love  and  comes  home  to  his  mother 
to  die,  the  murder-group  presents  interesting 
analogues  to  British  folk-song  in  the  ballads  of 
quick-witted  women  who  save  themselves  by 
slaying  their  would-be  murderers.  The  woman 
has  various  devices  to  get  the  man  into  her  power 
— borrowing  his  sword  to  cut  a  leafy  bough  for 
shading  her  horse,  or  to  trim  off  the  torn  fringes 
of  her  mantle,  or  persuading  him  to  stoop  and 
draw  off  her  shoes,  but  in  the  end  her  craft  is 
ever  stronger  than  his  violence.  Certain  ballads 
of  this  class,  as  A  Heroine,  suggest  an  offshoot  from 
Bluebeard  folklore.  In  The  Murder  of  the  Sweet- 
heart there  appears  at  her  worst  the  sinister  ballad- 


8       FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHem  Exirope 

mother,  whose  counsel  sways  the  wills  of  men,  who 
is  a  kind  of  Fate  to  youth  and  maiden.  By  her 
inexorable  command  the  son  is  brought  to  destroy 
what  best  he  loves,  to  his  own  swift  ruin.  Such 
ballads  give  the  heart  of  tragedy  compressed  into 
a  few  lines,  but  yielding  all  the  complication  of 
human  motives  and  desires,  of  compunctions  and 
recoils,  that  informs  the  drama  of  crime. 

The  greatest  of  all  murder-ballads  is  the  famous 
Donna  Lombarda.  No  one  knows  how  old  it  may 
be,  but  the  name,  the  nature  of  the  crime  and  its 
manner  point  back  to  a  sixth-century  original, 
the  history  of  Rosamund,  Queen  of  the  Lom- 
bards. If  this  be  so,  it  is  not  an  isolated  instance 
\  of  the  unappeasable  vengeance  of  popular  ill  fame. 
But  for  folk-song,  the  crimes  of  Edom  o'  Gordon 
and  of  Mary  Hamilton  might  be  forgotten.  It  is 
no  wonder  that  Helen,  bewailing  the  mischief  she 
has  wrought  and  the  doom  of  the  gods,  laments 
most  bitterly  the  lot  of  herself  and  of  her  hus- 
band for  that  "  even  in  days  to  come  they  may  be 
a  song  in  the  ears  of  men  that  shall  be  hereafter" 
{Iliad,  vi.,  357-8).  In  spite  of  great  beauty  and 
power,  Swinburne's  drama  of  Rosamund  is  uncon- 
vincing beside  the  grim  terror  of  the  ballad,  where 
passion,  jealousy,  suspicion,  and  vengeance  use 
naked  words  like  swords.  Swift  and  brief  as  it  is, 
nothing  that  goes  to  the  making  of  supreme 
tragedy  is  absent.  Othello's  "Thou  art  to  die" 
is  not  more  unappealable  than  the  husband's 
"Drink  with  me  then,  Donna  Lombarda";  and 


Introdviction  9 

all  the  flower-like  phrases  with  which  Swinburne's 
Rosamund  deceives  Albovine  wither  beside  the 
desperate  simplicity  of  Donna  Lombarda's 
evasion : 

"There  came  the  sea- wind  last  night  at  sunset; 
It  clouded  the  wine." 

Though  the  code  of  the  ballad  is  far  from  con- 
ventional morality,  retribution  commonly  follows 
close  on  crime.  The  most  primitive  and  most 
poetic  punishment  is,  of  course,  not  legal  execution; 
it  is  either  some  Nemesis  of  Nature  or,  more  often, 
the  vendetta.  Certain  crimes  against  society 
are  avenged  by  the  injured.  The  stealing  of  a 
maiden  instantly  brings  father  and  brothers  in 
pursuit.  Border  thieving  is  likely  to  be  met  by 
reprisal  from  the  chief  sufferers,  without  recourse 
to  law.  The  enveloping  world  of  Nature,  too, 
is  conscious  of  human  action;  bird  or  harp  will 
find  speech  to  betray  the  guilty  secret,  however 
strictly  guarded.  And  visible  Nature  is  mysteri- 
ously related  to  a  more  terrible  realm  of  the 
unseen.  When  human  agents  and  all  the  animate 
world  have  proved  harmless  to  the  criminal,  the 
very  graves  give  up  their  dead  to  reproach  or  to 
convict. 

The  social  ideal  of  the  ballads  is  democracy. 
The  ballad  hero  may  be  bandit,  outlaw,  felon,  but 
he  champions  the  lowly  and  defies  the  tyrant. 
Pride  and  courage  go  with  him  to  the  scaffold  and 
his  shameful  death  becomes  sweet  in  peasant  song. 


10     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  Europe 

The  Roumanian  ballads,  especially,  are  permeated 
with  this  hatred  of  oppression,  this  passionate 
sympathy  for  the  sorrows  of  the  poor,  the  out- 
cast, and  the  prisoner. 

The  people  of  the  little  Balkan  kingdom  of 
Roumania  appeal  in  rare  degree  to  one's  imagina- 
tion; their  songs  are  bewilderingly  and  fascina- 
tingly reminiscent  of  their  mingled  blood  and 
composite  temperament.  For  the  modern  Rou- 
manians, deeply  tinged  as  their  spirit  is  by  the 
Slavic,  are  far-away  descendants  of  those  Roman 
colonists  established  in  the  district  during  the 
second  century  by  the  great  invasions  of  the  Em- 
peror Trajan.  The  Roman  tradition  and  the 
Roman  traits  have  persisted  through  the  ravages 
of  Goths  and  Huns,  of  Turks  and  Russians. 
Pride  in  their  Roman  origin  has  outlasted  all  the 
ages  of  conflict  and  even  their  achievement  of 
national  independence  in  the  last  quarter  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  It  is  an  old  story  that  Roman 
colonists  and  exiles,  homesick  for  Italy,  were  wont 
to  name  the  Milky  Way  the  Road  to  Rome ;  so  the 
Roumanian  even  to-day  looks  up  to  that  white, 
splendid  path  and  calls  it  Trajan's  Road;  and  the 
thunder  he  calls  Trajan's  Voice.  A  Roumanian 
fairy  tale  is  of  the  poet  Ovid,  exiled  to  a  desolate 
place  near  the  Black  Sea;  and  of  an  enchanted 
island  whither  he  was  lured  by  a  pet  snake,  the 
one  companion  of  his  solitude,  and  where  he  saw 
superb  men  and  women  like  those  whom  he  had 
known  in  Rome — men  and  women  who  were  sud- 


Introdvictioii  11 

denly  transformed  into  serpents  before  the  wistful 
eyes  of  him  who  wrote  the  Metamorphoses.  Bits 
of  classic  mythology  survive  in  narrative  ballads^ 
Roman  names,  and  even  distorted  incidents  of 
Roman  history.  The  four  examples  of  Roumanian 
folk-song  translated  in  this  volume — the  opening 
ballad,  an  Apollo  myth  strangely  touched  with 
Christian  lights  and  shadows,  the  closing  ballad, 
poignant  with  human  pathos,  yet  most  beautiful 
of  all,  and  the  two  ballads  in  the  prisoner  group, 
one  of  Bujor  the  victim,  one  of  Shalga  the  deliverer 
— all  illustrate  that  romantic  high-heartedness  of 
the  Roumanian  peasant.  Soldierly  courage,  gal- 
lant welcoming  of  death,  and  a  patriotism  nerving 
to  perilous  adventure  women  as  well  as  men — 
these  things,  with  love  of  youth  and  beauty,  love 
of  space  and  freedom,  love  of  music,  weave  a 
resistless  charm.  Always  there  is  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  outward  world  as  living  and  holding 
fellowship  with  human  beings,  always  the  thought 
of  the  dead  as  still  retaining  a  dim,  imprisoned  life, 
not  utterly  cut  off  from  communion  with  those 
who  "walk  under  the  moon. " 

The  Roumanian  ballads  of  adventure,  many  of 
them  substantially  historic,  recall,  in  spite  of 
pronounced  differences,  the  English  and  Scottish 
ballads  of  the  Border,  but  the  Roumanian  heroes 
are  marked  by  a  certain  wild  majesty  and  gypsy 
grace.  Bujor,  whose  name  signifies  Peony  or 
The  Red-head,  was  a  Moldavian  brigand,  a 
popular  hero,  "pitiless  toward  officers  of  Govern- 


12     FolK- Ballads  of  So\itKern  Evirope 

ment,  and  toward  nobles;  he  was,  on  the  contrary, 
most  gracious  toward  peasants  and  the  unfortu- 
nate. "  These  characteristics  are  those  of  the  ideal 
outlaw  from  the  days  of  Sherwood  Forest  to  the 
present.  The  Sicilian  brothers,  Fra  Diavoli,  are 
more  of  the  dare-devil  type,  but  their  maddest 
exploits  are  tame  before  the  whirling  battle-ax  of 
Shalga,  that  glorious  young  Amazon  who  rides  to 
the  rescue  of  her  shepherds 

"High  upon  the  Danube  shore." 

The  English  and  Scottish  ballads  based  upon 
Scriptural  or  Apocryphal  stories  are  very  few. 
In  all  Professor  Child's  collection  there  are  but 
six  (Nos.  21,  22,  23,  54,  55,  56)  and  one  of  these 
(No.  21,  The  Maid  and  the  Palmer)  is  scarcely 
recognizable  as  the  degenerate  form  of  the  story 
of  the  Samaritan  woman,  having  almost  nothing 
in  common  with  its  beautiful  Southern  analogues. 
For  ballads  of  the  Passion  of  Christ,  one  should  turn 
to  the  Celtic.  I  know  nothing  in  the  Continental 
folk-poetry  that  compares  in  sorrow  and  in  horror 
with  the  Irish  Keening  of  the  Three  Maries  (see 
J.  M.  McCarthy's  Irish  Literature,  vol.  x.,  p.  3789, 
for  "A  Traditional  Folk-Ballad  translated  by 
Douglas  Hyde").  It  is  natural  that  the  popular 
poetry  of  Roman  Catholic  peoples  should  be  rich 
in  ballads  of  miracle,  of  penitence,  and  of  punish- 
ment; of  the  lives  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  of  Mary 
Magdalene,  of  the  Child  Jesus.     Reading  our  own 


Introdiaction  13 

exquisite  Cherry  Tree  Carol  (Child's  Collection,  No. 
54)  makes  one  wonder  regretftdly  how  many  other 
versions  of  sacred  legend  have  been  lost  in  the 
countries  of  Wyclif  and  Knox. 

In  a  sense,  the  religious  ballads  are  not  "popu- 
lar." Their  content  is  to  a  degree  bookish,  ob- 
tained through  the  instruction  of  the  Church,  yet 
nowhere,  except  in  the  ecclesiastical  drama,  is 
the  popular  handling  of  familiar  matter  so  in- 
terestingly evident.  The  two  New  Testament 
stories  that  have  the  widest  circulation  among 
these  ballads  are  that  of  Dives  and  Lazarus,  and 
that  of  Mary  Magdalene.  In  both  the  characters 
have  become,  as  it  were,  popular — even  provincial 
— types.  Lazarus  stands  for  the  mendicant  class, 
and  Dives  for  all  that  is  pitiless  and  unjust  in 
social  conditions.  Many  times  in  the  ballad  the 
persons  of  the  parable  disappear  altogether,  and 
the  story  is  only  of  the  prosperity  and  the  punish- 
ment of  a  nameless  rich  man  who  refused  charity 
to  the  poor.  From  France  alone,  one  could  make 
a  volume  of  such  ballads,  many  of  them  merely 
gruesome,  but  representing  as  a  whole  the  protest 
and  the  consolation  of  the  proletariat.  M.  Victor 
Smith,  describing  (in  Chants  de  Pauvres,  Romania, 
vol.  ii.,  1873)  the  singing  of  the  beggars  on  feast- 
days  about  1830,  says  that  their  favorite  songs 
were  "those  where  Jesus  made  himself  one  with 
them,  becoming  mendicant  like  them,  those  where 
the  wealthy  miser  is  punished  in  hell,  or  the  gen- 
erous alms-giver  rewarded  with  prompt  entrance 


14     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  Eiarope 

into  heaven,  those  where  paradise  is  shut  to  the 
rich  to  be  opened  to  the  poor."  And  Damase 
Arbaut  writing  (in  Chants  Populaires  de  la  Pro- 
vence, vol.  i.,  p.  58)  of  Provence  about  i860  says: 
"The  parable  of  Dives  is  still  the  favorite  song  of 
the  beggars." 

In  English  and  Scotch  folk-song,  we  have  no 
genuine  representative  of  the  Continental  cycle 
of  Magdalen  ballads.  Analogous  to  The  Maid 
and  the  Palmer  are  some  twenty  Scandinavian 
ballads  where,  as  there,  the  treatment  of  the 
woman  is  gross  and  where  the  story  of  the  Samari- 
tan is  confused  with  that  of  Mary  Magdalene. 
In  the  South,  besides  ballads  of  the  Samaritan 
woman,  there  are  many  ballads  of  Mary  Magda- 
lene, assumed  to  be  identical  with  the  woman 
"which  was  a  sinner"  (Luke  vii.,  37)  and  also 
with  Mary,  the  sister  of  Lazarus  and  Martha. 
The  Magdalen  of  these  ballads  is  a  most  appealing 
figure,  curiously  like,  and  unlike,  the  type  of  the 
painters.  She  is  beautiful  or  pretty,  vain,  loving 
finery,  loving  love,  but  turning  to  Him  who  reveals 
her  own  soul  to  her  with  all  the  abandonment 
of  devotion  that  she  has  lavished  upon  earthly 
loves.  Many  of  the  ballads  of  the  Magdalen  end 
with  her  glorious  transit  to  Heaven,  attended  by 
Mary  Virgin,  saints,  and  angels.  In  this  ending 
the  himian  pathos  of  the  character,  a  typical  sin- 
ful woman  turned  whole-heartedly  to  penitence, 
is  greatly  weakened.  The  Provencal  version  given 
by  Arbaut  seems  to  me  more   dramatic  in  its 


I  Introdxiction  15 

incompleteness  than  the  others,  though  it  lacks 
the  keen  characterization  of  the  Catalan. 

These  religious  ballads  vary  in  excellence  from 
best  to  worst  specimens  of  popular  poetry  exactly 
as  the  religious  literature  of  the  schools  varies  from 
greatest  to  least,  and  for  like  reasons.  Where  the 
ballad  is  made  to  enforce  a  dogma,  or  to  arouse  a 
fear,  it  may  be  execrable,  but  where  a  story  from 
the  New  Testament  or  from  the  legends  of  the 
Nativity  has  taken  hold  upon  a  simple  imagination, 
one  finds  such  clever  provincial  characterization 
as  in  that  piece  of  modern  tragi-comedy,  the  Sicil- 
ian version  of  The  Prodigal  Son,  and  often,  too,  a 
devoutness  as  sincere  as  its  expression  is  naive. 

The  superstition  that  pervades  European  folk- 
lore is  sometimes  curiously  interwrought  with 
Christianity  and  sometimes  frankly  pagan.  The 
unschooled  imagination  turns  constantly  to  the 
supernatural  to  account  for  the  mysterious,  the 
unexplained,  and  readily  finds  in  mere  sequence 
of  incidents  relations  of  cause  and  effect.  A 
mother  in  anger  curses  her  child,  and  the  child, 
departing  from  home,  is  overtaken  by  fatal  disaster. 
The  inference  is  plain.  It  is  the  mother's  malison 
(Child,  No.  216)  that  brings  Sweet  Willie  to  his 
death  in  the  roaring  Clyde ;  it  is  the  mother's  curse 
that  makes  the  little  bride  unable  to  hold  fast 
to  her  lover  at  the  perilous  ford. 

"  My  mother  she  has  cursed  me; 
And  the  curse  of  a  mother  or  a  father  must  come  true." 


l6     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  Evirope 

This  is  the  convincing  logic  of  events  from  which 
the  poetic  imagination,  be  it  that  of  crowned 
genius  or  of  village  minstrel,  creates  tragedy. 

Portent  in  ballad  poetry  is  as  inexorable  as 
malediction.  The  new  moon  is  seen  "with  the 
auld  moon  in  her  arm,"  the  sign  of  storm  and 
shipwreck,  and  Sir  Patrick  Spens  (Child,  No.  58) 
goes  to  his  death  with  as  strong  a  sense  of  fate 
upon  him  as  had  Beowulf  when  he  fought  the 
fire-drake.  It  is  only  the  sophisticated  mind  that 
has  noted  how  often  the  event  belies  the  omen. 
There  is  a  fine,  unconscious  logic,  too,  in  the  belief 
that  crime,  concealed  from  human  knowledge, 
must  yet  be  revealed — a  belief  that  has  colored  all 
literature  since  the  blood  of  Abel  cried  from  the 
ground.  The  popular  conceptions  are  no  less 
poetic  than  the  classic.  We  do  not,  in  the  ballads, 
see  the  comet  flaring  through  the  heavens  as  over 
Rome 

"A  little  ere  the  mightiest  Julius  died," 

but  (Child,  No.  68  C) 

"Aboon  the  place  Young  Riedan  lies 
The  cannels  burn  bricht. " 

We  do  not  hear  the  boding  cry  of  Cassandra  as  she 
recoils  from  the  threshold  of  Agamemnon's  palace, 
but  the  cawing  of  the  three  ravens  (Child,  No,  26) 
guides  the  seeker  to  the  slain  knight,  and  the  yellow 
harp-strings  (Child,  No.  10),  wrought  of  drowned 
maiden's  hair,  wail  the  words: 


Introdlvictioii  17 

"  Wae  to  my  sister,  fair  Ellen ! " 

It  is  all  one — shriek  of  Greek  prophetess  or  croak 
of  corbie;  "if  these  should  hold  their  peace,  the 
stones  would  immediately  cry  out." 

If  ballad  poetry  finds  much  material  in  omen, 
portent,  and  curse,  in  the  voices  of  birds,  the  cries 
of  water-kelpie  or  banshee,  in  the  speech  of  things 
inarticulate — if  the  natural  world  in  which  folk 
live  thus  goes  hand  in  hand  with  the  supernatural, 
inevitably  it  must  communicate  with  the  world  of 
the  dead.  The  few  ghost-ballads  of  Britain, 
including  at  least  two  that  are  superlatively  goo4> 
ally  themselves  with  a  great  group  of  Continental 
analogues,  among  which  are  some  of  the  finest 
ballads  in  existence.  A  main  theme  of  these  is 
spirit  visitation,  the  causes  that  disturb  or  call 
back  departed  souls  being:  the  grief  and  tears 
of  the  living  for  the  dead;  the  desire  of  the  dead 
lover  to  receive  back  his  troth,  without  which  he 
cannot  rest ;  the  lover's  longing  to  carry  his  living 
sweetheart  to  the  world  of  the  dead;  the  sufferings 
of  the  living,  especially  of  children  ill-treated  or 
neglected;  hurt  pride  because  the  grave  has  been 
trodden  by  careless  feet,  or  grazed  by  cattle;  the 
desire  to  redress  or  expiate  crimes  committed  in 
life;  the  desire  like  that  of  Dives  in  Hell  to  warn 
the  living  of  the  punishment  that  follows  sin. 

I  know  of  no  Southern  analogues  to  the  beautiful 
Northern  ballads  of  the  ghostly  lover.  It  is 
probable    that    these    ballads    are,    as    Professor 


1 8     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  E\jirope 

Child  points  out  (in  his  notes  to  Sweet  William^ s 
Ghost,  vol  ii.,  p.  228),  related  to  the  tale  of  Helgi 
and  Sigrun  in  the  Elder  Edda.  The  heroic  traits 
of  this  magnificent  epic  fragment  belong  to  a 
greater  art  than  that  of  ballad-making,  but  the 
ballads  have  preserved  the  human  pain  and  wist- 
fulness,  the  wonder  of  the  living  at  the  touch  of  the 
dead,  and  the  passionate  yearning  to  share  the  fate 
of  the  beloved. 

The  teachings  of  the  Church  give,  here  and  there, 
an  ethical  note  to  the  ghost-lore,  as  in  the  remorse- 
ful craving  of  the  spirit  to  return  for  the  repairing 
of  a  wrong  or  for  the  warning  of  his  kindred  that 
they  may  escape  his  doom.  More  rarely  the 
■\  touch  of  Christianity  imparts  an  unwonted  gentle- 
ness or  grace,  as  in  The  Wife  of  Usher's  Well 
(Child,  No.  79),  most  perfect  of  British  ballads. 
Here  the  widow's  three  sons,  in  hats  of  the  birk 
that  grew  fair  at  the  gates  of  Paradise,  come  home 
to  their  mother  for  a  night,  not  to  complain  of  her 
weeping,  but  simply  to  comfort  her  by  their 
presence.  Commonly,  however,  the  phantom 
ballads,  in  their  passage  from  paganism,  take  on 
only  the  new  horror  of  Purgatory  and  of  Hell. 
The  imagination  of  the  peasant  poet,  excited  and 
tantalized  by  the  pictures,  plays,  and  sermons  of 
the  Church,  revels  in  fantastic  torments.  The 
French  and  Spanish  ballads,  especially,  paint  the 
tortures  of  the  damned  with  all  the  hideousness, 
though  not  the  power,  of  Dante's  Inferno.  Yet 
sometimes,  as  in  the  pitiless  Catalonian  ballad  of 


Introdviction  19 

Count  Arnold,  who  had  been  an  unjust  master, 
there  is  even  more  spiritual  terror  than  ghostly 
horror.  The  wages  of  sin  and  the  relentlessness 
of  judgment  are  most  made  manifest,  not  in  the 
flaming  apparition,  but  in  the  shuddering  agony 
of  the  loyal  wife,  whose  love  cannot  deny  his  guilt 
nor  the  awful  justice  of  his  punishment. 

Yet  for  all  this  lurid  ecclesiastical  coloring,  the 
conception  of  the  dead  as  restless,  earth-bound, 
haunters  of  the  scenes  they  knew  in  life,  is  pagan, 
even  though  that  which  holds  them  from  peaceful 
union  with  death  is  the  lamentation  of  those  who 
love  them,  or  their  own  concern  for  those  they 
love.  The  theme  of  a  mother-ghost  stealing  from 
her  grave  to  care  for  her  misused  children  does 
not  belong  to  British  balladry,  but  is  common  in 
Continental  folk-lore,  both  Germanic  and  Southern, 
being  of  widest  diffusion  in  France.  The  ballad 
in  which,  perhaps,  there  is  most  of  the  pagan  pas- 
sion for  life  and  youth  is  a  brief  one  from  the 
Modem  Greek.  Not  even  in  Roumanian  folk-song 
have  I  found  such  agony  of  resentment  against 
death  as  cries  in  this  "voice  from  underground." 

"Perhaps  I  was  not  young,  I  too!    Was  I  not  brave? 
Have  I  not  walked,  I  too,  by  night  under  the  moon?" 

And  where  in  ballad-lore  outside  of  the  Rou- 
manian does  one  find  death  so  clothed  upon  with 
pagan  beauty  and  majesty  as  in  the  exultant 
vision  of  the  young  Moldave? 


20     rolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  £virope 

".   .    .   no  word  shalt  thou  tell ^ 
In  what  wise  my  death  befell; 
Say  I  wed  a  royal  bride, 
Wooed  of  all  the  world  beside; 
Say  that  when  our  faith  was  given, 
A  bright  star  fell  out  of  heaven ; 
Sun  and  moon  stood  holding  there 
A  marriage- wreath  above  my  hair ; 
Mountains  tall  were  priests  to  me; 
Guests  were  pine  and  alder  tree ; 
Torches  were  the  flaming  stars, 
Thousand  birds  my  lute-players." 


Ballads  of  Love 


SORELE  §1  LUNA 

Ambla,  frate,  mdndrul  sore 
Ambla,  frate,  se  se  'ns6re 

Noa  ai, 

Pe  noa  cai 
Care  n6ptea  pascu  in  ra!u, 
Ambla  ceriul  §i  pamintul 
Ca  sS,g^ta  §i  ca  vintiil, 
Dar  to^i  cai'§i  obosia 
§i  potriva  nu'§i  gasia 
Ca  sora  sa  Ileana 
Ileana  Cosinzana, 
Ce-i  frumos^  ca  o  fl6re 
Intr'o  ^rna  fS,ra  sore. 
— "SoriorS,  Ileano 
Ileano  Cosinzano! 
Haideti  se  ne  logodim 
C'amindoi  ne  potrivim 
§i  la  plete  §i  la  fe^e 
§i  la  dalbe  frumusete. 
Eu  am  plete  strelucite, 
Tu  ai  plete  aurite, 
Eu  am  fagia  ar^etore 
Tu,  fagia  mingS,et6re. 
— Alei!  frate  luminate, 
Trupu§or  far'  de  pacate, 


THE   SUN   AND   THE   MOON 

(Roumaniaft) 

Brother!  on  a  day,  the  Sun 

Was  filled  with  great  desire  to  wed; 

For  nine  years,  drawn  by  nine  steeds, 

Heaven  and  earth  he  traveled. 

Swift  as  arrow  or  as  wind ; 

But  in  vain  he  tired  his  steeds, 

Nowhere,  nowhere  could  he  find 

For  himself  a  worthy  bride, 

None  whom  he  might  place  beside 

Helen,  his  own  sister  fair, 

Helen  of  the  long  gold  hair. 

To  his  sister  then  he  goes. 
Speaking  in  the  voice  she  knows : 
"Helen,  little  sister  fair, 
Helen  of  the  long  gold  hair. 
Wilt  thou  not  be  wed  with  me? 
For  we  are  alike  to  see: 
Like  in  feature,  like  in  hair. 
Like  in  beauty  past  compare ; 
I  have  ghttering  rays  of  light. 
Thou  hast  tresses  gilded  bright; 
All  my  face  is  shining  clear. 
And  thy  face  is  radiant,  dear!" 

"Oh,  my  brother,  light  of  earth, 
Thou  who  from  all  sin  art  pure, 
23 


24     FolK-Dallads  of  SovitKern  Europe 

Nu  se  aflS,-adeverat 
Fra^i  se  se  fi  cununat. 
CatS,'t5f  tu  de  ceriul  teu 
§i  eu  de  pamintul  meu 
C'a§a  vnit-a  Dumnecjeu.  ** 
Sorele  se  'ntuneca, 
Sus,  la  Domnul  se  urea, 
Domnului  se  inchina 
§i  din  gura  cuvinta; 

"Domne  sfinte, 

§i  parinte! 
Mie  timpul  mi-a  sosit, 
Timpul  de  casatorit, 
§i  potriva  n'am  gasit 
Ca  sora  mea  Ileana 
Ileana  Cosinzana. " 
Domnvd  sfint  il  asculta 
§i  de  manS,  mi'l  lua 
§i  prin  iaduri  mi'l  purta 
Dor  ca  I'ar  inspaiminta, 
§i  prin  ram  inca  '1  purta 
Dora  ca  I'ar  incanta, 
Apol  Domnul  Dumne(^eu 
Cuvinta  cu  graJul  seu, 
Ear  cand  Domnul  cuvinta, 
Lumile  se  destepta 
§i  cu  drag  il  asculta. 
Cerurile  strelucia, 
Norii  din  senin  perfa: 
"Sore,  sore  luminate, 
Trupu§or  far'  de  pacate 
Raiul  tu  I'ai  petrecut 
§i  prin  iad  inca-ai  trecutu, 
Ce  mai  (Jice  ghindul  teii? 


TKe  Svin  and  tKe  Moon  25 

Never  since  the  world  had  birth, 
Never  was  it  known,  be  sure. 
Brother  might  with  sister  wed; 
That  were  dreadful  sin,"  she  said. 

At  these  words  the  Sun  grew  dim; 
And  he  mounted  to  God's  throne. 
And  he  knelt  before  the  Lord, 
With  his  own  voice  spoke  to  Him: 
"Holy  God!  Father!"  he  said, 
"It  is  time  that  I  should  wed, 
But  alas !  I  cannot  find 
Anywhere  a  worthy  bride, 
One  whom  I  may  set  beside 
Helen,  my  own  sister  fair, 
Helen  of  the  golden  hair." 

And  the  Lord  God  listened  well: 
Then  He  took  him  by  the  hand. 
Led  him  through  the  paths  of  Hell, 
That  his  heart  might  understand 
All  the  terror  of  the  place; 
Led  him  then  through  Paradise, 
To  enchant  him,  soul  and  eyes. 

Then  the  Lord  God  spoke  and  said: 
(While  the  Lord  God  spoke  that  day 
All  the  sky  shone  clear  and  gay ; 
Every  dim  cloud  vanished.) 
"Sun,"  He  said,  "thou  radiant  Sim, 
Thou  who  from  all  sin  art  pure. 
Thou  hast  been  in  Paradise, 
Thou  hast  walked  the  paths  of  Hell, 
Of  the  two  thou  must  choose  one." 


26     FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKern  Evirope 

— pice  ca  sufletul  meu, 
Aleg  iadul  chiar  de  viu 
Numai  singur  se  nu  fiu, 
Ci  se  fiu  cu  Ileana 
Ilcana  Cosinzana!" 
Sorele  se  coboria 
La  sora  lui  se  oprfa, 
MindrS  nuntS,  pregMa, 
Pe  Ileana  §i-o  gatia 
Cu  petals,  de  mir^sS, 
Cununa  de  'mperat6s2,, 
§i  rochi^a  ne^esutS,, 
Din  petre  scumpe  bS,tut3,. 
Apoi  mindri,  el  §i  ea 
La  bisericS,  mergea. 
Dar  cand  nunta  se  facea, 
Vai  de  el,  amar  de  ea! 
Candelile  se  stingea 
Clopotele  se  dogea, 
Sfin^ii  fagia  '§i  ascundea 
Preo^i  in  genuchi  cadea. 
Ear  miresa,  vai  de  ea! 
Frig  de  morte-o  coprindea 
Caci  o  man  a  se  'ntindea 
§i  pe  sus  o  redica 
§i  'n  mare  mi-o  arunca! 
Valurile  bulbucia, 
Ear  ea  'n  valuri  cum  trecea 
Mrena  de-aur  se  facea. 
Sorele  se  'nal^a  sus. 
Se  lasa  tot  spre  apus 
§i  'n  marea  se  cufunda 
La  sora  sa  Ileana 
Ileana  Cosinzana. 


THe  S\in  and  tKe  Moon  27 

Gayly  answered  then  the  Sun; 
"Hell  I  gladly  will  endure, 
If  alone  I  need  not  dwell, 
But  with  my  own  sister  fair, 
Helen  of  the  long  gold  hair. " 

From  the  sky  the  Sun  went  down 
To  his  sister's  house  that  day ; 
Set  the  wedding  in  array; 
Placed  on  Helen's  brow  so  fair 
The  golden  fillet  brides  should  wear; 
On  her  head  a  royal  crown; 
Dressed  her  in  transparent  gown, 
With  white  pearls  embroidered. 

To  the  great  church  to  be  wed 

Went  they  straightway,  he  and  she. 

When  the  service  is  begun, 

Woe  to  her  and  woe  to  him ! 

All  the  lamps  turn  dark  and  dim ; 

The  bells  crack,  and  crashing  fall 

Rail  and  rood  and  choir-stall; 

On  its  base  the  clock-tower  sways; 

Dumb  the  priest  stands  where  he  prays, 

And  his  vestments  fall  from  him. 

Woe  to  Helen !  sad  to  tell 

How  a  hand  invisible 

Seizes  her  from  out  the  place. 

Hurls  her  through  the  vast  of  space, 

Hurls  her  down  into  the  sea, 

Where  she  changes  suddenly 

To  a  fish  with  scales  of  gold. 


28     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  Europe 

EarS,  Dumne(Jeu  eel  sfint 
Sfint  in  car  §i  pre  pamint, 
Mana  'n  valuri  cS.  baga 
Mreana  'n  minS,-o  apuea 
§i  'n  eeriuri  o  arunea 
§i  'n  lunS.  plina-o  sehimba. 
Apoi  Domnul  Dumnec^eu 
Cuvinta  eu  graitdu  seu; 
Ear  eand  Domnul  cuvinta 
Lumile  se  spaiminta 
MSrile  se  tupila, 
Mun^ii  se  cutremura 
Ceriul  se  intuneca: 
"Tu,  IleanS,  CosinzanS 
Suflet^el  f3.rS,  prihanS,, 
§i  tu,  s6re  luminate 
Trupu?or  far'  de  pacate! 
Cu  ochii  se  vS  zarit^i 
Dar  se  fi^i  tot  desp3,rtit5f. 
ipi  §i  nopte  plini  de  dor, 
Ar§i  de  foe  nestingetor, 
Vecinic  se  ve  alunga^i 
Ceriul  se  cutrierat^i 
Lumile  se  luminat?!" 

Alecsandri,  Vasile  :  Poesii  Populare  ale  Romdnilor  (Bucuresd^ 
1866),  pp.  27-30. 


XHe  S\in  and  tKe  Moon  29 

Then  the  Sun  pales,  even  he, 
And  he  mounts  the  vaulted  sky, 
And  he  sinks  down  toward  the  west, 
Plunges  deep  into  the  sea, 
Seeking  her  he  loves  the  best, 
Helen,  his  own  sister  fair, 
Helen  of  the  long  gold  hair. 

Then  the  Lord  God  from  on  high, 
Holy  Lord  of  earth  and  sky, 
Took  the  gold  fish  in  his  hand. 
Hurled  it  once  again  through  space, 
Changed  it  of  his  wondrous  grace 
To  the  moon  with  shining  face; 
And  the  Lord  God  spoke  again: 
(When  the  Lord  God  spoke  that  day. 
Stars  and  worlds  shook  far  and  near. 
But  the  sea- waves  calmer  lay. 
And  the  mountains  bent  to  pray, 
While  men  trembled  in  their  fear.) 

"Helen  of  the  long  gold  hair. 
And  thou  Sun  so  shining  fair, 
Thou  who  from  all  sin  art  pure. 
Sun  and  Moon  ye  are  condemned, 
While  my  heavens  shall  endure. 
Till  eternity  shall  end, 
To  seek  each  other  through  the  skies, 
Following  with  yearning  eyes; 
Never  having  power  to  meet 
On  the  high  celestial  street, 
Only  following  endlessly. 
Lifted  over  earth  and  sea. 
Wandering  heaven  day  and  night, 
Filling  all  the  worlds  with  light." 


30     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHem  Europe 

SCIBILIA   NOBILI 

La  figghia  di  lu  re'mprincipi 
Chi  si  cerca  a  maritari 
Porta  setti  aneddi  a  jidita 
E  quattordici  schivani. 

Sta  nova  jiu  'nsina  'n  Tunisi, 
Unni  chiddru  malucani 
Armau  setti  galeri 
Tutti  setti  'capu  la  navi 
Cu  triccentu  marinari. 

Quannu  fdru  'mmeru  a  lu  portu 

Li  birritti  si  cangiaru 

Pi  pariri  cristiani. 

Si  nni  jeru  nni  Scibilia  nobili: 

"Scibilia  nobili,  aprimi,  aprimi. " 

"E  no  no  'un  ti  pozzu  apriri, 

Chi  lu  m^  spusu  k  k  cacciari." 

La  porta  'n  terra  cci  sbalancaru 
A  Scibilia  nobili  si  pigghiaru 
Cu*  'nu  peri  e  cu'  'na  manu 
Supra  la  navi  si  la  purtaru. 

E  po'  vinni  lu  s6  spusu 
Ed  accuminciau  a  spiari : 
"Scibilia  nobili  unn'^,  unn'  eni?" 
"  Si  la  pigghiaru  li  marinari." 


TKe  Noble  Sibilla  31 

THE   NOBLE   SIBILLA 

(Sicilian) 

The  daughter  of  a  line  of  princes ; 

Oh,  she  was  very  fair  to  wed; 
She  wears  seven  rings  upon  her  fingers, 

Twice  seven  veils  upon  her  head. 

The  fame  of  her  has  spread  to  Tunis, 

To  Tunis  where  the  pirates  be ; 
And  they  have  armed  their  seven  galleys, 

And  all  the  seven  set  to  sea ; 
Seven  galleys  and  three  hundred  seamen 

They  have  set  out  upon  the  sea. 

They  come  a-sailing  into  harbor, 

And  every  crafty  blackamoor 
Has  dressed  himself  like  to  a  Christian 

To  go  unto  the  lady's  door. 

"O  Sibilla!     O  noble  lady! 

Open,  I  pray,  thy  door  to  me!" 
"My  husband  he  is  gone  a-hunting, 

I  cannot  open  unto  thee." 

The  blackamoors  they  will  not  Hsten, 
But  they  have  broken  in  the  door; 

By  hands  and  feet  they  seize  the  lady, 
And  carry  her  down  to  the  shore. 

The  husband  comes  home  from  his  hunting 

And  all  the  people,  weeping,  say: 
"She  is  not  here,  thy  noble  lady, 

The  Moors  have  stolen  her  away." 


32     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  Europe 

Si  nn'  ha  jutu  a  la  marina 
Lacrimi  all'  occhi,  li  manu  sbattennu, 
"  Jeu  vi  dugnu  oru  e  dinari 
Pi  quantu  iddra  p6  pisari." 


"Puru  chi  mi  nni  inghissi  navi 
E  no  no  'un  ti  I'haju  a  dari." 
"E  signuri  Ginerali, 
E  facitimilla  affacciari 
Quantu  ci  dicu  du  suli  palori. 
"Scibilia  nobili,  Scibilia  nobili, 
Comu  ti  facisti  pigghiari  ? 
Mi  lassasti  lu  figghiu  picciulu, 
E  cu'  minna  cci  voli  dari? 
Si  nurrizza  'im  cci  nn'^  no, 
Pani  e  nuci  cci  pascird. " 


E  supra  li  tri  ghioma 

Cci  dissiru:  "V6'  mangiari?" 

"  N^  mangiari,  n^  biviri, 

N^  durmiri  nh  stari  beni, 

Nuddru  pinseri  a  mia  mi  nni  veni 

Chi  lu  mh  figghiu  6  mortu  di  fami.  '* 


Li  marinari  s'addrumisceru; 
Cadiu  la  bella  dintra  lu  mari ; 
Scali  di  sita  pi  li  marinari 
Pi  pigghiari  la  bella  'nta  mari. 


;<. 


The  Noble  Sibilla  33 

The  husband  goes  down  to  the  harbor, 

His  tears  are  falling  like  the  rain; 
"Oh,  I  will  load  your  ships  with  treasure; 

Give  me  my  noble  bride  again." 


"Though  you  should  load  my  ships  with  treasure 
Until  they  sink  into  the  sea; 
\  Though  you  should  load  my  ships  with  treasure, 
/    _Your  noble  lady  stays  with  me." 

"O  noble  captain  of  the  galleys. 

Listen,  and  do  me  this  one  grace. 
That  I  may  speak  here  with  my  lady. 

And  look  once  more  upon  her  face. " 

"O  Sibilla,  my  noble  lady! 

How  couldst  thou  let  them  take  thee  thus? 
Thou  hast  left  thy  little  son  behind  thee, 

Tell  me  what  will  become  of  us? 
How  shall  I  feed  him  lest  he  die? 
And  who  will  sing  his  lullaby?" 

After  three  days  the  sailors  beg  her: 

"0  noble  lady,  eat  and  drink." 
"I  have  no  wish  for  eating,  sleeping, 

For  always  on  my  house  I  think. 
Only  one  thing  can  do  me  good. 
To  give  my  starving  baby  food. " 

The  mariners  they  lie  a-sleeping; 

She  throws  herself  into  the  sea; 
But  they  have  made  them  silken  ladders 

And  drawn  her  out  full  skillfully. 

3 


34     FolK-Ballads  of   SovitHern  Europe 

E  la  navi  vota  e  firria 

E  la  bella  chiancennu  va. 

"Marinaru,  marina,  marona, 

Sammi  a  diri  chi  ventu  fa, 

S'e  sciloccu  o  tramuntana 

Nni  me  patri  mi  purtird. 

Miu  caru  patri,  miu  cam  patri. 

Mi  vuliti  riscattari  ?" 

"Mia  cara  figghia,  mia  cara  figghia, 

Quantu  h  lu  ricattitu  t6?" 


"Tri  liuna,  tri  farcuna, 
Quattru  culonni  chi  d'oru  su'." 
"Ntm  pozzu  perdiri  ssi  dinari, 
Quantu  h  megghiu  ti  perdi  tu!" 


"V6i  mangiari,  voi  mangiari?" 
"N^  mangiari,  n^  biviri, 
N^  durmiri  n^  stari  beni, 
Nuddru  pinseri  a  mia  mi  nni  veni 
Chi  lu  m^  figghiu  h  mortu  di  fami. ' 


Si  nn'  ha  jutu  a  la  marina 
E  la  navi  v6ta  e  firria 
E  la  bella  chiancennu  va. 


"Marinari,  marina,  marona, 
Sammi  a  diri  chi  tempu  fa, 
S'^  sciloccu  o  tramuntana 
Nni  m^  matri  mi  purtird. 


TKe  Noble  Sibilla  35 

And  now  the  ship  goes  sailing,  swinging, 
And  the  fair  lady  goes  a-singing: 
"0  sailor,  sailing,  always  sailing. 

Tell  me  how  does  the  sea- wind  blow; 
Be  it  the  South  wind,  be  it  the  North  wind, 

To  my  father  I  will  go. " 
"0  my  father,  my  dear  father! 

Wilt  thou  not  come  and  ransom  me?" 
"O  my  daughter,  my  dear  daughter, 

Tell  me  what  must  thy  ransom  be?" 


"Three  gold  lions,  three  gold  falcons, 
Four  gold  columns  it  must  be." 

"I  cannot  part  with  so  much  treasure. 
How  much  better  to  part  with  thee!" 


"Wilt  thou  not  eat  and  drink,  fair  lady?" 
"Oh,  no,  I  cannot  eat  nor  drink. 

What  should  I  do  with  eating,  sleeping, 
When  always  the  same  thought  I  think? 

My  baby  dies  for  lack  of  food. 

What  meat  or  drink  can  do  me  good?" 


The  ship  close  to  the  shore  goes  driving. 
It  turns  and  goes  a-sailing,  swinging, 
And  the  fair  lady  goes  a-singing : 
"O  sailor,  sailing,  always  sailing. 

Tell  me  how  docs  the  sea- wind  blow? 
Be  it  the  South  wind,  be  it  the  North  wind, 

To  my  mother  I  will  go." 


36     FolK-Ballads  of   SovitKem  Evirope 

Mia  cara  matri,  mia  cara  matri, 
Mi  vuliti  arriscattari?" 
"  Mia  cara  figghia,  mia  cara  figghia, 
E  quant'  h  lu  ricattitu  to?" 

"Tri  liuna,  tri  farcuna, 
Quattru  culonni  chi  d'oru  su'." 
"Nun  pozzu  perdiri  ssi  dinari, 
Quantu  h  megghiu  ti  perdi  tu!" 

"V6i  mangiari,  voi  viviri, 
Voi  durmiri,  v6'  stari  beni?" 
"Nuddru  pinseri  a  mia  mi  nni  veni 
Chi  lu  mh  figghiu  h  mortu  di  fami. " 

Si  nn'ha  ghiuta  a  la  marina 

E  la  navi  v6ta  e  firria 

E  la  bella  chiancennu  va. 

"Marinaru,  marina,  marona, 

Sammi  a  diri  chi  tempu  fa, 

S'^  sciloccu  o  tramuntana 

Nni  m^  frati  mi  purtiro. 

Miu  caru  frati,  miu  cam  frati, 

Mi  vuliti  arriscattari?" 

"Mia  cara  soru,  mia  cara  soru, 

E  quant'  ^  lu  ricattitu  to?" 

"Tri  liuna,  tri  farcuna, 

Quattru  culonni  chi  d'oru  su'." 

"Nun  pozzu  perdiri  tuttu  ss'  oru,   ' 

Quant'  6  megghiu  ti  perdi  tu!" 

Si  nn'  ha  ghiuta  a  la  marina, 
E  la  navi  vota  e  firria 
E  la  bella  chiancennu  va. 
"Marinaru,  marina,  marona, 
Sammi  a  diri  chi  tempu  fa. 


TKe  Noble  Sibilla  37 

"0  my  mother,  my  dear  mother! 

Wilt  thou  not  come  and  ransom  me?" 
"0  my  daughter,  my  dear  daughter. 

Tell  me  what  must  thy  ransom  be?" 

"Three  gold  lions,  three  gold  falcons, 

Four  gold  columns  it  must  be." 
"I  cannot  part  with  so  much  money, 

How  much  better  to  part  with  thee!" 

"Wilt  thou  not  eat  and  live,  fair  lady? 

Wilt  thou  not  sleep  and  do  thee  good?" 
"Only  one  thought  I  'm  always  thinking, 

My  little  baby  dies  for  food." 

Now  close  along  the  land  they  're  driving. 
But  the  ship  goes  sailing,  swinging. 
And  the  fair  lady  goes  a-singing: 
"O  sailor,  sailing,  always  sailing. 

Tell  me  how  does  the  sea-wind  blow? 
Be  it  the  South  wind,  be  it  the  North  wind. 

To  my  brother  I  will  go." 

"0  my  brother,  my  dear  brother! 

Wilt  thou  not  come  and  ransom  me?" 
"0  my  sister,  my  dear  sister. 

Tell  me,  what  must  thy  ransom  be?" 

"Three  gold  lions,  three  gold  falcons. 

Four  gold  columns  it  must  be. " 
"I  cannot  part  with  so  much  treasure, 
^  How  much  better  to  part  with  thee!" 

And  now  along  the  shore  they  're  driving, 
But  the  ship  goes  sailing,  swinging. 
And  the  fair  lady  goes  a-singing: 
"O  sailor,  sailing,  always  sailing. 

Tell  me  how  does  the  sea- wind  blow? 


38     FolK-Ballads  of   SoxitKern  Europe 

S'^  sciloccu  o  tramuntana 
Nni  me  soru  mi  purtird. 
M^  cara  soru,  m^  cara  soru, 
Mi  vuliti  arriscattari?" 
"M^  cara  soru,  m^  cara  soru, 
E  quant'  e  lu  ricattitu  to?" 
"Tri  liuna,  tri  farcuna, 
Quattru  culonni  chi  d'oru  su'." 
"Nim  pozzu  perdiri  tuttu  ss'  oru, 
Quant'  e  megghiu  ti  perdi  tu!" 

"Marinaru,  marina,  marona, 
Sammi  a  diri  chi  tempu  fa, 
S'e  sciloccu  o  tramuntana 
Nni  lu  md  spusu  mi  purtir6. 
Miu  caru  spusu,  miu  caru  spusu, 
Mi  vuliti  arriscattari?" 

"Mia  cara  spusa,  mia  cara  spusa, 
E  quant'  h  lu  ricattitu  to?" 
"Tri  liuna,  tri  farcuna, 
Quattru  culonni  chi  d'oru  su'." 
"Megghiu  perdiri  tuttu  ss'  oru' 
Basta  chi  'un  ti  perdi  tu." 

E  supra  li  tri  ghioma 

E  lu  patri  muriu. 

"E  lassatilu  muriri 

Tutta  di  russu  m'  h^  vistiri." 

E  supra  li  tri  ghiorna 

E  la  matri  muriu. 

"E  lassatila  muriri 

Tutta  di  giannu  m'  he  vistiri." 


The  Noble  Sibilla  39 

Be  it  Sirocco  or  Tramontana, 
To  my  sister  I  will  go." 

"O  my  sister,  my  dear  sister! 

Wilt  thou  not  come  and  ransom  me?" 
"O  my  sister,  my  dear  sister, 

Tell  me,  what  must  thy  ransom  be?" 

"Three  gold  lions,  three  gold  falcons. 

Four  gold  columns  it  must  be." 
"I  cannot  part  with  so  much  treasure. 

How  much  better  to  part  with  thee!" 

"0  sailor,  sailing,  always  sailing. 

Tell  me  how  does  the  sea- wind  blow? 

Be  it  Sirocco  or  Tramontana, 
To  my  husband  I  will  go." 

"O  my  husband,  my  dear  husband! 

Wilt  thou  not  come  and  ransom  me?" 
"O  my  lady,  my  dear  lady. 

Tell  me,  what  must  thy  ransom  be?" 

"Three  gold  lions,  three  gold  falcons, 

Four  gold  columns  it  must  be." 
"Better  to  part  with  all  my  treasure; 

Enough  that  I  never  part  from  thee. " 


And  after  three  days  were  ended, 

Her  father  was  lying  dead : 
"Then  let  him  die,  and  but  Httle  care  I, 

I  will  wear  a  gown  all  of  red. " 

And  after  three  days  were  ended, 
Her  mother  was  lying  dead : 

"Oh,  let  her  die,  and  what  care  I? 
I  will  dress  all  in  yellow,"  she  said. 


40     PolK-Ballads  of   Soxithem  Europe 

E  supra  li  tri  ghioma 

E  lu  frati  moriu. 

"E  lassatilu  muriri 

Tutta  di  virdi  m'  hd  vistiri." 

E  supra  li  tri  ghioma 

E  la  soru  muriu. 

"E  lassatila  muriri 

Tutta  di  biancu  m'  h^  vistiri, 

E  si  mori  lu  me  caru  spusu 

Di  niuru  arzolu  m'  he  vistiri. " 

LiEBRiCHT,  Felix:     "Ein  Sicilisches  Volkslied"  in  Zeitschrifl 
fiir  Deutsche  Philologie  (Halle,  1878),  vol.  ix.,  pp.  53-64. 

LO   MARINER 

A  la  bora  de  la  mar 
— n'  hi  ha  una  donzella 
Que  'n  brodava  im  mocador 
— qu'  es  per  la  reyna. 

Quan  ne  fau  d  mig  brodat 
— li  falta  seda ; 
Ven  veni'  un  berganti  y  diu: 
— "Ohdela  vela! 

"Mariner,  bon  mariner 
— que  'n  port^u  seda?  " 
"De  quin  color  la  voleu 
— blanca  6  bermella?" 

"Bermelleta  la  vull  jo 
— que  es  millor  seda. " 
"Entrau  dintre  de  la  nau 
— triareu  d'  ella. " 


TKe  Noble  Sibilla  41 


And  after  three  days  were  ended, 

Her  brother  was  lying  dead : 
"Oh,  let  him  die,  and  what  care  I? 
^^  will  dress  all  in  green, "  she  said. 

And  after  three  days  were  ended, 

Her  sister  was  lying  dead : 
"Oh,  let  her  die,  for  what  care  I? 

I  will  dress  all  in  white, "  she  said. 
"But  if  my  own  dear  love  were  dead, 
I  should  wear  blackest  black,"  she  said. 


THE   SAILOR 

(Catalan) 

At  the  margin  of  the  sea 

A  maiden  is  sitting, 
A  kerchief  embroidering, 

For  the  queen  fitting. 

When  the  work  is  half  done, 

The  silk  it  is  failing: 
She  sees  a  splendid  ship 

Near  the  shore  sailing. 

"Sailor,  with  ship  so  fine, 
Have  you  silk  aboard  her?" 

"Wilt  thou  have  white  silk,  or  green? 
With  which  dost  thou  embroider?" 

"A  light  green  is  best  of  all. 

Other  shades  are  duller." 
"Come  and  enter  my  good  ship; 

Choose  thine  own  color." 


42     FolK-Ballads  of   So\atKern  £virope 

Quan  es  dintre  de  la  nau 
— la  nau  pren  vela. 
Marine  's  posa  a  cantar 
— cansons  novellas. 

Ab  lo  cant  del  mariner 
— s'  es  dormideta; 
Ab  lo  soroll  de  la  mar 
— ella  's  desperta. 

Quan  ella  s'  ha  despertat 
— ja  no  'n  veu  terra; 
La  nau  es  en  alta  mar, 
— pel  mar  navega. 

"Mariner,  bon  mariner 
— portaume  d  terra 
Que  a  mi  'Is  ayres  de  la  mar 
— me  'n  donan  pena." 

"Aix6  si  que  no  'u  fare 
— qu'heu  de  ser  meva." 
"  De  tres  germanas  que  som 
— so  la  mes  bella. 

"L*  una  es  casada  ab  un  duch 
— I'altra  es  princesa 

Y  jo  pobreta  de  mi 
— so  marinera. 

"L'una  du  faldillas  d'or 
— I'altra  de  seda, 

Y  jo  pobreta  de  mi 

— 'n  duch  de  estamenya. " 


TKe  Sailor  43 


So  she  enters,  and  the  ship 

Full-sail  goes  winging, 
And  the  sailor  sings  to  her; 

New  songs  he  's  singing. 

With  the  song  the  sailor  sings 

Sleep  overtakes  her, 
But  the  surging  of  the  sea 

Soon  it  awakes  her. 

When  she  *s  awake,  she  sees 
The  land  disappearing, 

And  the  ship  on  the  great  waves 
Out  to  sea  steering. 

"Mariner,  good  mariner, 

Home  I  'd  be  sailing, 
With  the  salt  air  of  the  sea 

My  heart  is  ailing," 

"Nay,  nay,  that  cannot  be. 
Though  thou  despairest. " 

"Oh,  we  were  sisters  three, 
I  was  the  fairest. 

"One  wedded  with  a  duke, 

One  a  prince  married; 
Poor  me,  a  sailor  lass! 

Out  to  sea  carried ! 

"One  she  wore  robes  of  gold, 

One  silk  all  shining ; 
Poor  me,  in  woollen  stuff 

I  must  go  pining!" 


44     FolK-Ballads  of   SoxitKem  Europe  u 

n 

"No  n'  es  d'estamenya,  no,  '■ 

— que  n'es  de  seda 
No  sou  marinera,  no, 
— que  'n  ser^u  reyna, 

"  Que  jo  s6  lo  fill  del  rey 
— de  ringlaterra, 
Y  set  anys  que  vaig  p^l  mar 
— per  vos  donzella. " 

Briz  y  Candi:     Cansons  de  la  Terra  (Barcelona,  1866),  vol.  1'., 
pp.  1 13-120. 

IL   CORSARO 

(Ritomello:  Sii  lafiur  de  Vagua — sii  lafiur  del  mar.) 

— O  marinar  de  la  marina, 

o  cante-me  d'iina  cansun. 
— Muntd,  bela,  sii  la  mia  barca, 

la  cansun  mi  la  cantero. — 
Quand  la  bela  I'e  staita  an  barca, 

bel  marinar  s'biita  a  cant^. 
L'an  naviga  pi  d'sincsent  mia, 

sempre  cantand  cula  cansun. 
Quand  la  cansun  1'^  sta  fiimia, 

la  bela  a  c^  n'in  vol  turn^. 
— Sei  gi^  limtan  pi  d'sincsent  mia, 

sei  gia  luntan  da  vostra  c^. 
— Coza  dira  la  mama  mia, 

che  n'a  sto  tant  a  riturn^? 
— Pens6  pa  pi  a  la  vostra  mama, 

o  pens^,  bela,  al  marinar. — 
S'a  n'in  ven  la  meza  noiteja, 

n'in  ven  I'ura  d'and^  durmJ. 


XHe  Corsair  45 

"No  gown  of  stuff;  you  '11  wear 

Gold  and  silk  blended; 
No  sailor's  lass  art  thou, 

But  a  queen  splendid. 

"My  father  's  England's  king, 

A  gold  crown  he  's  wearing; 
I  've  sought  thee  seven  years, 

On  the  sea  faring. " 


THE  CORSAIR 

(Piedmontese) 
(0  flower  of  the  water!    Flower  of  the  sea!) 

"O  sailor  of  the  sea! 
O  sing  a  song  to  me!" 
"Come  up  into  my  boat,  my  dear, 
And  all  my  singing  thou  shalt  hear." 
She  climbs  into  the  sailor's  barque; 
He  falls  to  singing  like  a  lark. 
Five  hundred  miles  he  sails  along, 
Singing  always  the  same  song. 
When  at  last  the  singing  dies. 
For  her  home  the  maiden  cries. 

"We  have  sailed  so  long  to-day, 
Thy  father's  house  is  far  away." 
"Think  of  my  dear  mother's  pain 
If  I  do  not  come  again. " 
"Think  no  longer  of  thy  mother. 
Think  of  me  and  of  no  other. " 

Soon  comes  on  the  midnight  deep, 
And  't  is  time  to  go  to  sleep. 


46     FolK-Ballads  of   SovitKem  Europe 

— O  despoj^-ve,  o  descauss6-ve, 

cugei-ve  si  cu'l  marinar. 
— I  m'sun  sula-me  tanto  sciassa, 

che  '1  gital  poss  pi  dessid^. 
O  marinar  de  la  marina, 

o  prest^-me  la  vostra  spa; 
Presto,  galant,  la  vostra  speja, 

che  '1  gital  possa  taje. — 
Quand  la  bela  I'a  avii  la  speja, 

an  mes  al  cor  a  s'l'd  pianti. 
— O  maledeta  sia  la  speja, 

e  cula  man  ch'a  i  1'^  presto ! 
Ma  s'i  I'ai  nen  baza-la  viva, 

a  I'e  morta  la  voi  baze. — 
Al'^  pi^-la  per  sue  man  bianche, 

ant  el  mar  a  '1  I'a  camp^. 

Nigra,  C:     Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,  i888),  No. 
14  A,  pp.  106-110. 


IL  MORO  SARACINO 

Bel  galant  a  si  marida, 

si  marida  for  d'pais. 
L'a  spuza  na  fia  giuvo, 

tanto  giuvo  e  tant  gentil. 
Tanto  giuvo  cum'a  I'era 

si  savia  pa  gnianc  vestl. 
Al  liines  a  l'a  spuza-la, 

al  martes  la  chita  li. 
Bel  galant  I'e  anda  a  la  guerra, 

per  set  agn  n'a  turna  pi; 
E  la  povera  Fiorensa 

1  'h  resta  sensa  mari. 


XKe  Moor  Saracen  47 

"Sweet,  put  by  thy  shoes  and  gown, 

And  to  sleep  we  will  lie  down." 

"But  this  lace  is  bound  so  strong, 

To  undo  it  will  take  long. 

O  brave  sailor  of  the  sea, 

Will  you  lend  your  sword  to  me? 

Lend  me,  gentle  youth,  your  sword, 

So  that  I  may  cut  this  cord. " 

His  bright  sword,  the  sailor  lent  it; 

Deep  into  her  heart  she  sent  it. 

"May  the  sword  accursed  be, 
And  the  hand  that  gave  it  thee! 
Living,  I  did  not  kiss  thee,  dear; 
See  how  I  kiss  thy  dead  face  here!" 

He  took  her  by  her  hands  so  fair ; 

Into  the  sea  he  cast  her  there. 

(0  flower  of  the  water!     Flower  of  the  sea!) 

THE   MOOR   SARACEN 

{Piedmontese) 

A  gay  youth  goes  to  seek  a  wife  in  a  country  not  his 

own; 
She  is   young  as  she  is  pretty,  not  yet  a  woman 

grown, 
So  young  she  has  not  even  learned  to  dress  herself 

alone. 

On  Monday  he  has  married  her,  on  Tuesday  he  's 

away. 
The  youth  has  gone  off  to  the  war  for  seven  years  to 

stay. 
And  so  poor  Fiorenza  is  left  alone  again. 


48     FolK-Ballads  of  SovjtKern  Evirope 

E  da  li  a  i  passa  '1  Moro, 

el  gran  Moro  Sarazi. 
L'a  ruba  bela  Fiorensa, 

a  1  '^  mna-la  a  so  pais. 
A  la  fin  de  li  set  ani 

bel  galant  1  '^  riiva  li. 
Cun  iin  p^  pica  la  porta: 

"0  Fiorensa,  vni  a  diirbl.** 
Sua  mama  da  la  finestra: 

"Fiorensa  I'd  pa  pi  si; 
Fiorensa  1  'd  st^  rubeja 

dal  gran  Moro  Sarazi." 
"O  tird-me  giu  mia  speja, 

cula  del  piignal  d'or  fin. 
Voi  andd  serchd  Fiorensa 

s'a  n'a  duv^issa  miiri. " 
L'a  trova  tre  lavandere, 

ch'a  lavavo  so  fardel. 
"Di-me  'n  po',  vui  lavandere, 

di  chi  d-lo  cul  castel?" 
"Cul  castel  a  Vh  del  Moro, 

del  gran  Moro  Sarazi; 
E  Fiorensa,  bela  Fiorensa, 

j'd  set  agn  ch'a  I'd  la  drin." 
"Di-me  'n  po',  vui  lavandere, 

cum'  farai-ne  andd  la  drin?" 
"Pozd  cul  vest!  da  pagi, 

vestiri  da  piligrin. 
Andd  ciame  la  limozna 

sta  seira  o  duman  matin. 
E  Fiorensa,  bela  Fiorensa, 

ve  dara  del  pan  e  del  vin.' 
El  Moro  da  la  finestra 

da  luntan  l'a  vist  a  vni: 


XKe  Moor  Saracen  49 

When  there  comes  riding  by  the  Moor,  the  great  Moor 

Saracen. 
He  has  stolen  Fiorenza  and  carried  her  to  Spain. 
When  the  seven  years  are  finished,  the  youth  comes 

home  once  more; 
"  O  Fiorenza,  it  is  I ;  come  open  me  the  door. " 

Cries  his  mother  at  the  window:  "You  look  for  her  in 

vain; 
Fiorenza  has  been  stolen  by  the  great  Moor  of  Spain. " 

"  O  mother,  throw  me  down  my  sword,  with  the  hilt  of 

gold  so  fine; 
Though  I  should  die  upon  the  road,  I  will  find  this  love 

of  mine." 

He  has  found  three  washerwomen,  washing  beside  the 

way: 
"Now  whose  is  that  great  castle,  good  women,  can 

you  say?" 

"  It  is  the  castle  of  the  Moor,  the  great  Moor  Saracen: 
Fiorenza's  there   these    seven  years,   and    goes    not 
home  again." 

"Tell  me,  good  washerwomen,  how  could  one  enter 

there?" 
"You  must  put  your  fine  clothing  off,  and  like  a 

pilgrim  fare; 
This  evening  or  to-morrow,  go  beg  for  alms, "  they 

said, 
"And  pretty  Fiorenza  will  give  you  wine  and  bread. " 

The  Moor  is  at  the  window,  and  far  away  looks  he: 


50     FolK-Ballads  of   SovitKern  £urope 

"O  guards,  bela  Fiorensa, 

'n  piligrin  del  vost  pais." 
"D'me  pais  a  pol  pa  esse, 

pol  pa  esse  d'me  pais. 
J'uzelin  ch'a  vulo  an'aria 

polo  pa  vni  fin  a  si. 
S'a  n'in  fiiss  la  rundanina, 

ch'a  gira  tiit  quant  el  di. " 
"Fh  limozna,  'n  po'  d'limozna 

a  sto  pover  piligrin!" 
An  fazend-je  la  limozna 

a  j'a  vist  so  anel  al  di. 
E  Fiorensa  1  'a  conossu-lo 

ch'a  I'era  so  prim  mar  J. 
S'a  n'in  va  a  la  sciidaria, 

munta  an  sela  al  caval  gris. 
"St^-me  alegre,  mie  creade, 

mi  m'n'a  turno  al  me  pais." 
El  Moro  da  la  finestra 

s'biita  a  pianzer  e  geml : 
"Avei-la  mantnu  set  ani 

sensa  gnianc  tuch^-je  'n  di!" 

Nigra,  C:  Canh  Popolari del Piemonte  (Torino,  i888),No.40  A, 
pp.  213-256. 


CRIBETO 

{bis) 


Cribeto,  I'an  casado, 
Hillo  de  Cormesi. 
Ero  n'es  tant  petito, 
Nou  se  sab  pas  besti. 

L'amour  la  teng,  I'amour  qui  nous  la  teng,  )  />  •  \ 
Boudrio  la  teni.  I 


\ 


Cribete  51 

"See  the  pilgrim,  Fiorenza,  who  comes  from  your 

country." 
"  From  my  country  he  is  not,  no,  not  from  my  country ! 
The  birds  in  the  air  flying,  fly  not  so  far  away. 
Except  it  were  the  swallow  that  wheels  about  all  day. " 

"Give  alms  to  a  poor  pilgrim,  who  begs  from  land  to 

land. " 
But  she  has  seen,  in  giving,  the  ring  upon  his  hand, 
And  Fiorenza  knows  him  for  her  first  love,  indeed. 
He  has  hurried  to  the  stables  and  mounted  a  gray 

steed. 

"Oh,  wish  me  well,  my  maidens,  I  go  to  my  country ! " 
But  the  Moor  up  at  the  window  is  sobbing  bitterly: 
"Seven  years  have  I  maintained  her,  and  she  would 
none  of  me!" 


CRIBETE 
(Gascon) 

Cribete,  they  have  married  her, 
Cormesin's  daughter  fair; 

She  is  still  too  little 

To  dress  her  own  bright  hair. 

Love  holds  her  close; 

The  love  that  may  not  hold  her 

Longs  to  enfold  her. 


52     FolK-Dallads  of   SovitKern  Europe 

Soun  marit  ba  a  la  guerro, 
Per  la  d^cha  grandi. 
Quant  la  guerro  es  finido, 
Que  toumo  au  soun  pais. 

S'en  ba  tusta  a  la  porto. 
— "Cribeto,  sai  oubri." 
Sa  mai,  touto  plourouso: 
— "Cribeto  n'es  aci. 

Lou  r^i  Maurou  I'a  preso, 
Miado  en  soun  pais." 
— "Dounatz-me  la  capo  roujo, 
Lou  bastoun  de  sapin. " 

Ba  demanda  I'aumoino, 
Dens  lou  pais  Mauri. 
Dou  balcoun  dou  r^i  Maurou 
Cribeto  que  I'a  bist. 

Pintuo  cabellino, 
Dab  un  pintou  d'or  fin. 
— "H^  caritat,  senora, 
Au  praube  pelegrin." 

— "Nau  podi  pas,  senor. 
Jou  nou  soui  pas  d'aci. " 
R^i  Maurou  I'escoutauo, 
Dou  houn  dou  gran  jardin. 

— "Hd  caritat,  senora, 
Au  praube  pelegrin. 
Se  n'es  ma  henno  adaro, 
Seras  douman  mai  tin." 


Cribete  53 

Her  husband  rides  away  to  war. 

Until  she  shall  be  grown ; 
But  when  the  war  is  over 

He  comes  back  to  his  own. 

He  stands  a-knocking  at  the  door: 

"Open  to  me,  my  dear!" 
His  mother  speaks,  all  weeping: 

"Cribete  is  not  here. 

"The  Moorish  king  came  riding; 

He  stole  Cribete  and  fled. " 
"Give  me  a  staff  of  willow, 

And  a  cloak  of  red." 

B  And  he  has  gone  a-begging, 

Clad  like  a  poor  pilgrim; 
Till  from  her  balcony  Cribete 
Leans  and  looks  down  on  him. 

She  combs  her  hair  with  a  fine  gold  comb. 

In  the  palace  of  the  Moor; 
"Give  charity,  senora, 

To  a  pilgrim  poor." 

"I  have  no  money,  senor; 
My  home  is  far  from  here." 
H  And  the  Moorish  king  he  listens 

In  the  great  garden,  near. 

"Give  charity,  senora. 

To  a  pilgrim  all  forlorn; 
If  thou  art  not  my  wife  to-night, 

Thou  wilt  be  to-morrow  morn." 


54     FolK-Ballads  of   SoutKern  Europe 

— "B^i  a  1 'escuderio : 
Preng  lou  millou  roussin. 
Rei  Maurou  lous  acasso: 
— "Cribeto,  sai  aci." 

Quant  soun  au  pount  d'Obiedo,    |  /» •  \ 

Lou  pount  beng  a  parti.  ) 

— "Bierge  te  I'aui  preso, 

E  bierge  I'as  aci." 

L 'amour  la  teng,  I'amour  qui  nou  la  teng,  )  /,  •  n 

Boudrio  la  teni.  f 


Blad6,  J-F.:  Poestes  Populaires  de  la  Gascogne  (Paris,  1881-2), 
vol.  ii.,  pp.  44-49. 


EL  CONDE   SOL 

Grandes  guerras  se  publican 
Entre  Espana  y  Portugal: 
Pena  de  la  vida  tiene 
Quien  no  se  quiera  embarcar. 
Al  conde  Sol  le  nombran 
Por  capitan  general ; 
Del  rey  se  fue  ^  despedir, 
De  su  esposa  otro  que  tal. 
La  condesa  que  era  nina, 
Todo  se  le  va  en  llorar. 

"Dime,  conde,  cuantos  afios 
Tienes  de  echar  por  alld?" 
"Si  d  los  seis  anos  no  vuelvo, 
Condesa,  os  podeis  casar.  " 


Covint  Sol  55 

He  has  robbed  the  royal  stables ; 

The  steed  flies  like  the  wind : 
"Come  back,  come  back  to  me,  Cribete!" 

Cries  the  Moorish  king  behind. 

The  bridge  of  Oviedo 

Breaks  ere  their  horse  has  passed: 
"  Maiden  I  took  her  from  thee, 

Maiden  she  's  thine  at  last. " 

Love  holds  her  close; 

The  love  that  may  not  hold  her 

Longs  to  enfold  her. 

COUNT   SOL 

{Castilian) 

A  great  war  they  are  declaring 

Between  Spain  and  Portugal; 
Any  man's  life  would  be  forfeit 

Who  refused  that  battle-call; 
And  the  brave  Count  Sol  is  chosen 

To  be  Captain  General. 

Of  his  king  and  of  his  lady 

He  has  sadly  taken  leave; 
Now  the  countess  was  but  little ; 

She  could  only  grieve  and  grieve. 

"Tell  me,  my  Lord  Count,  how  many 
Years  before  you  come?"  she  said. 

"In  six  years,  if  I  still  linger. 
Little  Countess,  you  may  wed." 


56     FolK-Dallads  of   SoutHern  Exarope 

Pasan  los  seis,  y  los  ocho, 
Pasan  diez  y  pasan  mas, 
Y  el  conde  Sol  no  tornaba 
Ni  nuevas  suyas  fue  a  dar. 


Estando  en  su  estancia  sola, 
Fuela  el  padre  a  visitar : 
"Que  tienes,  hija  querida. 
Que  no  cesas  de  llorar?" 
"Padre  de  toda  mi  alma, 
Por  la  santa  Trinidad, 
Que  me  querais  dar  licencia 
Para  al  conde  ir  d  encontrar. 
"  Mi  licencia  teneis,  hija, 
Haced  vuestra  voluntad." 


La  condesa  al  otro  dia 
El  conde  se  fu^  a  buscar, 
Triste  por  Italia  y  Francia, 
Por  la  tierra  y  por  la  mar. 
Ya  estaba  desesperada, 
Ya  se  torna  para  acd, 
Cuando  gran  vacada  un  dia 
Devis6  alia  en  un  pinar. 
"Vaquerito,  vaquerito, 
Por  la  santa  Trinidad, 
Que  me  niegues  la  mentira 
Y  me  digas  la  verdad: 
De  qui^n  son  estas  vaquitas 
Que  en  estos  montes  estan?" 
"Del  conde  Sol  son,  senora, 
Que  manda  en  este  lugar." 


Covint  Sol  57 

And  the  years  pass,  two  years,  four  years, 

Six  and  eight,  ten  years  and  more, 
But  the  Count  Sol  still  is  absent, 

And  no  tidings  reach  his  door. 

Comes  the  father  of  the  countess, 

Where  she  keeps  her  watch  alone : 
"Little  girl,  what  is  your  trouble. 

That  your  tears  are  never  done?" 

"Father  of  my  heart,  dear  father, 

By  the  Holy  Trinity, 
Give  me  leave  to  make  a  journey. 

To  find  where  Count  Sol  may  be!" 
"Go  your  way,  my  little  daughter, 

You  shall  not  have  'no'  from  me." 

So  the  countess  leaves  next  morning, 

Journeys  over  land  and  sea; 
Always  for  her  lover  seeking. 

Sad,  through  France  and  Italy. 

On  a  day  she  was  despairing. 

Ready  to  turn  home  at  last, 
When  she  saw  a  great  herd  feeding 

In  a  pine  grove  where  she  passed. 

"Little  herd-boy,  little  herd-boy, 

By  the  Holy  Trinity, 
Do  not  tell  me  any  lies  now. 

Tell  the  simple  truth  to  me ; 

"Tell  me  whose  are  all  the  cattle 

I  see  feeding  in  this  place." 
"They  are  the  Count  Sol's,  senora. 

He  has  sent  them  here  to  graze. " 


58     FolK-Dallads  of   SovitKern  Europe 

"Y  de  quien  son  esos  trigos 
Que  cerca  estan  de  segar?" 
"Senora,  del  mismo  conde, 
Porque  los  hizo  sembrar. " 
"Y  de  qtiien  tantas  ovejas 
Que  a  corderos  dan  mamar?" 
"Senora,  del  conde  Sol, 
Porque  los  hizo  criar. " 
"De  quien,  dime,  esos  jardines 

Y  ese  palacio  real?" 
"Son  del  mismo  caballero; 
Porque  alii  suele  habitar. " 
"De  quien,  de  quien  los  caballos 
Que  se  oyen  relinchar?" 

"Del  conde  Sol,  que  suele 

Sobre  ellos  ir  a  cazar. " 

"  Y  quien  es  aquella  dama 

Que  un  hombre  abrazando  esta?" 

"La  desposada  senora. 

Con  que  el  conde  va  a  casar." 

' '  Vaqueri  to ,  vaquerito , 

Por  la  santa  Soledad, 

Toma  mi  ropa  di  seda, 

Y  visteme  tu  sayal, 

Que  ya  halle  lo  que  buscaba, 
No  lo  quiero,  no,  dejar; 
Agarrame  de  la  mano 

Y  a  su  puerta  me  pondras, 
Que  a  pedirle  voy  limosna, 
Por  Dios,  si  la  quiere  dar. " 


Coxint  Sol  59 

"Tell  me  whose  are  all  those  wheat  fields 

Almost  ready  to  be  mown." 
"They  are  the  same  count's,  my  lady, 

By  his  servants  they  were  sown. " 

"And  those  flocks  of  ewes,  pray  tell  me, 
That  are  suckling  young  ones  there?" 

"Those  are  the  Count  Sol's,  sefiora. 
That  his  shepherds  have  in  care. " 

"Whose  are  those  great  gardens,  tell  me. 

And  that  royal  palace  grand?" 
"Those  are  the  same  knight's,  senora. 

Where  he  lives  on  his  own  land. " 

"Tell  me  whose  are  all  the  horses. 

Neighing  round  about  the  place. " 
"Those  are  the  count's  hunting  horses 

That  he  uses  for  the  chase." 

"Tell  me  then  who  is  the  lady 

In  that  man's  embrace,"  she  said. 
"That  is  the  count's  bride,  senora. 

They  are  just  about  to  wed. " 

"Little  herd-boy,  little  herd-boy, 

By  the  Holy  Unity, 
Take  this  gown  of  silk  I  'm  wearing, 

Give  thy  suit  of  serge  to  me. 

"For  I  find  what  I  am  seeking, 

And  I  will  no  further  go. 
Take  me  by  the  hand  and  lead  me 

Yonder  to  that  portico; 
There  for  alms  I  '11  stand  a-begging; 

They  will  give  me  gold,  I  know. " 


6o 


FolK-Ballads  of   SoxitKern  Europe 

Desque  estuvo  la  condesa 
Del  palacio  en  el  umbral, 
Una  limosnica  pide 
Que  se  la  den  por  piedad, 

Y  fue  tanta  su  ventura, 
Aun  mas  que  era  de  esperar, 
Que  la  limosna  demanda 

Y  el  conde  se  la  fu6  a  dar. 
"De  donde  eres,  peregrina?" 
"Soy  de  Espafia  natural." 
"Como  llegastes  aqui?" 
"Vine  mi  esposo  a  buscar, 
Por  tierra  pisando  abrojos, 
Pasando  riesgos  en  mar, 

Y  cuando  le  halle,  senor, 
Supe  que  se  iba  a  casar, 
Supe  que  olvido  a  su  esposa, 
Su  esposa  que  fu^  leal, 

Su  esposa  que  por  buscalle 
Cuerpo  y  alma  fud  a  arriesgar.  '* 
"Romerica,  romerica, 
Calledes,  no  digas  tal, 
Que  eres  el  diablo  sin  duda 
Que  me  vienes  a  tentar!" 
"No  soy  el  diablo,  buen  conde, 
Ni  yo  te  quiero  enojar; 
Soy  tu  mujer  verdadera, 

Y  asi  te  vine  d  buscar." 


Oovint  Sol  6i 

When  the  countess  reached  the  palace, 

She  stood  in  the  portico, 
And  begged  alms  of  any  passer 

Who,  she  thought,  might  pity  show. 

There  befell  her  great  good  fortune, 

Beyond  all  her  hope  at  last ; 
As  she  stood  there  begging  money, 

'T  was  the  count  himself  that  passed. 

"Now  whence  do  you  come,  fair  pilgrim?" 

"I  am  Spanish  bom, "  said  she. 
"And  how  did  you  reach  my  palace?" 

"By  the  dangers  of  the  sea, 

"And  by  land  where  ways  were  thorny, 

I  have  sought  my  love, "  she  said; 
"But  when  I  had  found  him,  senor, 

He  was  just  about  to  wed. 

"His  own  bride  he  had  forgotten. 

His  bride,  loyal  to  her  troth; 
His  bride,  who,  that  she  might  seek  him, 

Ventured  soul  and  body  both. " 

"Pilgrim,  pilgrim,  pretty  pilgrim. 
Do  not  say  such  things!"  cried  he; 

"Without  doubt  you  are  the  devil, 
And  are  come  a-tempting  me!" 

"  My  Lord  Count,  I  am  no  devil. 

And  I  would  not  give  you  pain. 
I  am  your  own  loyal  lady, 

Come  to  seek  you  out  of  Spain." 


62     FolK-Dallads  of  SovitKern  E-xirope 

El  conde  cuando  esto  oyera, 
Sin  un  punto  mas  tardar, 
Un  caballo  muy  lijero 
Ha  mandado  aparejar, 
Con  cascabeles  de  plata, 
Guarnido  todo  el  pretal; 
Con  los  estribos  de  oro, 
Las  espuela  otro  tal, 
Y  cabalgando  de  un  salto, 
A  su  esposa  fue  a  tomar, 
Que  de  alegria  y  contento 
No  cesaba  de  llorar. 
Corriendo  iba,  corriendo, 
Corriendo  va  sin  parar, 
Hasta  que  llego  al  castillo 
Donde  es  senor  natural. 

Quedddose  ha  la  novia 
Vestidica  y  sin  casar, 
Que  quien  de  lo  ajeno  viste, 
Desnudo  suele  quedar. 

DuRAN,  Agustin:  Romancero  General  (Madrid,  1851),  vol.  i,, 
pp.  iSo  seq.  Also,  Wolf  y  Hofmann:  Priviavera  (Berlin,  1856), 
vol.  ii.,  pp.  48-52. 

A   PEREGRINA 

Peregrina,  a  peregrina 
Andava  a  peregrinar 
Em  cata  de  um  cavalleiro 
Que  Ihe  fugiu,  mal  pezar! 
A  um  castello  torreado 
Pela  tarde  foi  parar: 
Signaes  certos,  que  trazia 
Do  castello,  foi  achar. 


The    Pilgrim  63 

The  Count  Sol  when  he  had  heard  this 

Not  a  minute  would  he  wait, 
But  his  swiftest  horse  he  called  for 

To  be  ready  at  the  gate. 

All  about  the  horse's  bridle 

Tinkled  many  a  silver  bell; 
And  the  rein  with  gold  was  shining, 

And  the  spurs  were  gold  as  well. 

The  count  vaulted  to  the  saddle, 

And  his  wife  behind  was  set ; 
So  glad  was  she  and  contented 

That  her  eyes  with  tears  were  wet. 

They  went  running,  always  running. 

Never  once  did  they  dismount. 
Till  in  Spain  they  reached  the  castle 

That  belonged  to  my  Lord  Count. 

The  new  bride  was  left  unmarried. 

Lonely  in  her  wedding-dress ; 
One  who  steals  another's  treasure 

Shall  be  left  in  nakedness. 

THE   PILGRIM 

(Portuguese) 

A  fair  lady  like  a  pilgrim, 
Like  a  pilgrim  see  her  pass, 
Seeking  long  time  for  her  lover, 
Who  deserted  her,  alas! 

To  a  battlemented  castle 
Just  at  evening  she  draws  near; 
Certain  signs  about  the  castle 
Tell  her  heart  that  he  is  here. 


64     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  E-virope 

"Mora  aqui  o  cavalleiro? 
Aqui  deve  de  morar. " 
Respond^ra-lhe  uma  dona 
Discreta  no  seu  fallar: 
"0  cavalleiro  esta  fora, 
Mas  nao  deve  de  tardar. 
Se  tern  pressa  a  peregrina, 
Ja  Ih'o  mandarei  chamar." 

Palavras  nao  eram  dittas, 
O  cavalleiro  a  chegar: 
"Que  fazeis  porqui,  senhora, 
Quern  vos  trouxe  a  este  logar?" 
"O  amor  de  um  cavalleiro 
Por  aqui  me  faz  andar. 
Prometteu  de  voltar  cedo, 
Nunca  mais  o  vi  tornar ; 
Deixei  meu  pae,  minha  casa, 
Corri  por  terra  e  por  mar 
Em  busca  do  cavalleiro, 
Sem  nunca  o  pod^r  achar!" 
"Negro  fadairo,  senhora, 
Que  tarde  vos  fez  chegar! 
Eu  de  vosso  pae  fugia 
Que  me  queria  mattar; 
Corri  terras,  passei  mdres, 
A  este  castello  vim  dar. 
Antes  que  f6sse  anno  e  dia 
(Vos  me  fizestes  jurar) 
Com  outra  dama  ou  donzella 
Nao  me  ha  via  desposar. 


TKe   Pilgrim  65 

"Tell  me,  pray,  whose  is  this  dwelling? 
It  is  here  the  knight  should  dwell." 
Said  the  lady  of  the  castle 
(Prudently  she  spoke  and  well) : 
"The  master  of  the  house  is  absent, 
But  't  is  time  that  he  should  come ; 
If  time  presses  for  the  pilgrim 
I  will  send  to  call  him  home. " 

Scarcely  had  the  words  been  spoken, 
When  came  in  the  chevalier. 
"What  has  brought  you  here,  sefiora? 
Whom  do  you  come  seeking  here?" 

"It  is  love  of  my  own  lover 
That  has  brought  me  to  your  door. 
He  had  promised  to  come  quickly. 
But  he  came  to  me  no  more. 
I  have  left  my  house,  my  father, 
Journeyed  over  land  and  sea ; 
Everywhere  I  seek  my  lover. 
Yet  know  not  where  he  may  be. " 

"Oh,  't  is  evil  luck,  sefiora. 
That  has  brought  you  here  so  late! 
I  was  forced  to  fly  your  father; 
He  would  kill  me  in  his  hate. 
Over  sea  and  land  I  traveled 
Till  I  reached  this  castle  gate. 
You  had  made  me  swear,  senora, 
For  a  year  and  day  to  wait, 
And  with  neither  dame  nor  damsel 
All  that  time  to  married  be ; 


66     FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKern  Europe 

Anno  e  dia  eram  passados 

Sem  de  v6s  ouvir  fallar, 

Co'a  dona  d'esse  castello 

Eu  hontem  me  fui  casar."   .    .    . 

Palavras  nao  eram  dittas, 

A  peregrina  a  expirar. 

"Ai  penas  de  minha  vida, 

Ai  vida  de  meu  penar! 

Que  farei  d'esta  lindeza 

Que  em  meus  bragos  vem  finar?" 


Do  alto  de  sua  t6rre 
A  dama  estava  a  raivar: 
"Leva-la  d'ahi,  cavalleiro, 
E  que  a  deitem  ao  mar." 
"Tal  nao  farei  eu,  senhora, 
Que  ella  e  de  sangue  real   .    . 
E  amou  com  tanto  extremo 
A  quem  Ihe  foi  desleal. 
Oh!  quem  nao  sabe  ser  firme, 
Melhor  fora  nao  amar." 
Palavras  nao  eram  dittas 
O  cavalleiro  a  expirar. 


Manda  a  dona  do  castello 
Que  OS  vao  logo  interrar 
Em  duas  covas  bem  fundas 
Alii  junto  a  beira-mar. 
Na  campa  do  cavalleiro 
Nasce  um  triste  pinheiral, 
E  na  campa  da  princeza 
Um  saudoso  canavial. 


TKe    Pilgrim  67 

But  the  year  and  day  were  ended 
And  no  word  had  come  to  me: 
With  the  lady  of  this  castle 
Yestermorning  I  was  wed." 

Now  the  words  were  scarcely  spoken 
When  the  pilgrim  sank  down  dead. 

"Oh,  alas!  the  pain  of  living! 
Oh,  what  life  of  pain  have  I ! 
What  should  I  do  with  this  beauty, 
Come  back  to  my  arms  to  die?" 

Now  the  lady  from  her  tower 
Watched  in  wrath  and  jealousy : 
"Take  her  up  from  there,  my  husband, 
Bid  them  cast  her  in  the  sea." 

"That  I  never  will  do,  lady, 
For  by  blood  she  is  a  queen; 
As  her  love  to  me  was  faithful, 
So  have  I  disloyal  been. 
He  who  knows  not  to  be  faithful, 
Better  never  love  at  all. " 

Now  the  words  were  scarcely  spoken, 
When  they  saw  the  lover  fall. 

Then  the  lady  of  the  castle 

Bids  that  they  should  buried  be 

In  two  new-made  graves,  digged  deeply 

By  the  margin  of  the  sea. 

From  the  grave  of  the  dead  lover 
There  grew  up  a  sad  pine  grove; 
And  a  bed  of  wistful  reeds  grew 
From  the  grave  of  his  dead  love. 


68     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  E.\irope 

Manda  a  dona  do  castello 
Todas  as  canas  cortar; 
Mas  as  canas  das  raizes 
Tomavam  a  rebentar: 
E  a  noite  a  castellana 
As  ouvia  suspirar. 

Almeida-Garrett,  V.  de:    Romancciro  (Lisboa,   1875),    vol. 
iii.,  pp.  31-38. 

ERO   E   LEANDRO 

Chi  la  vol  senti-la  cant^ 

d'un  amante  e  d'iina  bela? 
So  pare  a  la  vol  marid^, 

d^-je  un  omo  a  sua  fant^. 
La  bella  a  i  dis  ch'a  '1  lo  vol  nen, 

ch'a  j'e  bin  pi  car  so  car  Leandro. 
E  so  pare  a  1'^  sauta  an  fiirur, 

I'a  fa-la  hxxth  an  fund  d'iina  tur. 
S'a  na  ven  su  I'induman, 

gentil  galant  a  va  truve-la. 
— Gentil  galant,  vui  avi  bun  cor 

de  vni-me  a  vede  al  fund  d'custa  tur. 
— I  'avniria  'n  po '  pi  sovens, 

s'a  fiissa  nen  del  re  vost  pare. 
— Gentil  galan,  s'vui  feisse  lo-li, 

faria  biite  i  flambo  per  insegna; 
Quand  i  flambo  saran  alime, 

vui  fari  forsa  per  intr^. — 
S'a  na  ven  sii  I'induman, 

gentil  galant  a  va  truv^-la, 


J 


Hero  and  Leander  69 

Now  the  lady  of  the  castle 
Sends  to  cut  the  tall  reeds  low, 
But  the  more  the  mowers  reap  them, 
From  the  roots  they  faster  grow; 
In  her  tower  the  lady  hears  them 
Sighing  when  the  night  winds  blow. 


HERO  AND   LEANDER 

{Piedmo7ttese) 

Who  will  hear  the  song  sung  over, 
Of  a  beauty  and  her  lover? 

She  will  not  heed  her  father's  voice, 
And  take  a  husband  of  his  choice. 

All  in  vain  does  he  command  her; 
Too  dear  is  her  own  dear  Leander. 

In  great  rage,  that  very  hour. 
Her  father  shuts  her  in  a  tower. 

When  the  sun  rose  the  next  day, 
The  noble  youth  came  by  that  v;ay. 

"O  noble  youth,  your  heart  is  brave, 
To  come  and  seek  for  me  and  save. 

"Now,  if  to  save  my  life  you  came, 
Wait  till  you  see  the  torches  flame. 

"When  I  have  given  you  that  sign, 

Come  and  break  down  these  doors  of  mine. 

The  evening  of  the  second  day 
The  noble  youth  came  by  that  way. 


70     FolK-Dallads  of  SoxitKem  £\irope 

A  s'^  buta-se  a  I'umbra  d'iina  rul, 

a  I'a  diirmi  la  noit  e  '1  giurn. 
Bel  galant  s'e  dazvie, 

a  r^  vist  ch'la  tur  I'era  gia  'n  fiame; 
Quand  ch'a  I'a  vist  la  tur  a  briizd, 

giu  da  la  mar  a  s'e  tamp^. 
La  bela  ch'a  I'era  la, 

ch'a  guardava  so  car  Leandro, 
Quand  a  '1  I'a  vist  ant  el  mar  a  ni^, 

giii  da  la  tur  a  s'e  tampd. 

Nigra,    C:    Canti   Popolari    del    Piemonte    (Torino,    i888), 
No.  7  A,  pp.  68-70. 


LA   PROVA 

"O  cant^,  cante,  fieta, 

finchd  sei  da  marida. " 
"  Mi  voi  pa  cante  ne  ride, 

che  '1  me  cor  I'e  passion^. 
Lo  me  amur  1'^  anda  a  la  guera; 

da  set  agn  1'^  pi  tuma. 
Se  sav6issa  'n  po'  la  strada, 

Tandaria  a  riscuntra." 
Quand  1'^  staita  a  meza  strada, 

iin  bel  giuvo  a  I'a  scuntr^. 
"O  dizi-me  vui,  bel  giuvo, 

j'^i-vo  vist  me  annamura?" 


TKe  Test  71 

He  threw  him  down  beneath  an  oak ; 
'T  was  the  next  night  when  he  awoke. 

The  gallant  youth  awoke  in  shame : 
He  saw  the  tower  all  aflame. 

And  when  he  saw  it  burning,  he 
Threw  himself  into  the  sea. 

The  beauty  watched  from  far  away 
The  place  where  her  Leander  lay. 

When  in  the  sea  she  saw  him  drown, 
From  the  high  tower  she  cast  her  down. 

THE   TEST 
{Piedmontese) 

"Oh,  sing,  sing,  pretty  maiden, 

Until  your  wedding-day!" 
"Can  I  sing  or  smile  with  a  broken  heart, 

And  my  love  so  far  away? 

"My  sweetheart  went  away  to  war, 

'T  was  seven  long  years  ago ! 
Oh,  I  would  like  to  follow  him. 

But  the  way  I  do  not  know. " 

As  she  set  out  upon  the  road, 

She  met  with  a  fair  youth : 
"Pray,  have  you  seen  my  own  sweetheart? 

O  brave  lad,  tell  me  truth." 


72     FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitHern  Hvirope 

"Si  che  furse  i  I'ai  vedu-lo, 

ma  i  '1  I'ai  pa  riconossu. 
O  dizi-me  vui,  fieta, 

cum  a  I'er-lo  mai  vestu?" 
"L'era  tiit  vestu  di  rosso 

cun  el  capelin  borda, 
Cun  la  speja  a  la  sintiira 

e  la  scirpa  ricam^. " 
"O  si,  si  ch'i  I'ai  vedu-lo, 

l'era  bin  acumpagna; 
Cun  sinquanta  torce  avische 

lo  portavo  a  sutera. " 
La  bela  1'^  casca  an  tera, 

casca  an  tera  dal  dolur. 
"0  ste  su,  ste  sii,  fieta, 

che  sun  mi  '1  vest  prim  amur ! " 

Nigra,  C:   Canli  Popolari  del  Piemonte     (Torino,  1 888),    No. 
54  A,  pp.  314-315- 


PIERRE    DE    GRENOBLE 

Pierre  s'en  va-t-^  arm^ie, 

Pour  bien  demeurer, 
N'a  laiss6  sa  mie  a  Grenoble, 

Qui  fait  que  pleurer. 

Pierre  n'at  envoy^  une  lettre 

De  ses  amities, 
La  belle  n'at  envoy^  une  autre. 

Qui  est  toute  de  pleurs. 


Pierre  of  Grenoble  73 

"It  may  be  I  have  seen  him, 

How  should  I  know  him  there? 
Oh,  tell  me,  pretty  maiden, 

What  did  your  sweetheart  wear?" 

"He  wore  a  cap  with  a  band  of  gold; 

He  wore  a  coat  of  red; 
He  had  a  sword  girt  at  his  waist 

With  a  scarf  embroidered. " 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  have  seen  him; 

He  had  an  escort  brave: 
With  fifty  torches  burning  bright 

They  bore  him  to  his  grave. " 

The  maiden  fell  down  to  the  earth, 

She  fell  to  earth  for  pain. 
"Oh,  rise,  rise,  dear,  I  am  your  love, 

Your  first  love  come  again!" 


PIERRE   OF   GRENOBLE 

{French) 

Pierre  and  all  his  company 

Are  ordered  far  away; 
His  sweetheart,  left  in  Grenoble  town, 

Weeps  the  livelong  day. 

Pierre  has  sent  a  letter  sweet, 

All  full  of  lover's  fears; 
And  she  has  written  one  to  him. 

Made  of  grief  and  tears. 


74     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  Elxirope 

Pierre  n'a  pas  vu  cette  lettre, 

Ne  fait  que  pleurer, 
S'en  va  trouver  son  capitaine: 

"Donnez  mon  conge." 

"Pour  ton  cong6,  je  te  le  donne, 

Tu  retourneras. " 
"Oh!  si  ma  mie  est  en  vie, 

Je  I'epouserai, 
Si  ma  mie  en  est  morte, 

Je  retournerai. " 


II  nen  fut  pas  sur  ces  montagnes, 

Dessus  ces  rochers, 
Entend  les  cloches  de  Grenoble 

Qui  font  que  sonner. 

Pierre  n'a  mis  le  genou  en  terre, 
Son  chapeau  a  la  main, 

Priant  Dieu,  la  Vierge  Marie 
De  sa  mie  voir. 


II  nen  fut  pas  dedans  Grenoble, 

Sa  mie  n'a  trouv6, 
Accompagne  de  trente  dames, 

De  vingt  cavaliers. 


"Vous  autres  qui  portez  ma  mie, 

Laissez-moi  la  voir. 
D6couvrez-lui  son  blanc  visage. 

Car  je  veux  la  voir. " 


Pierre  of  Grenoble  75 

Pierre  can  scarcely  read  the  page 

It  sets  him  weeping  so ; 
But  he  has  sought  his  captain  out: 

"Give  me  leave  to  go." 

"I  give  you  leave  all  willingly, 

But  come  again,  "  he  said. 
"Oh,  if  my  true  love  is  alive, 

We  surely  will  be  wed ; 
But  I  shall  come  to  you  again, 

If  my  true  love  be  dead. " 

Pierre  has  climbed  the  mountain  path 

Where  the  rocks  steepest  are; 
He  hears  the  bells  of  Grenoble  town 

Tolling  from  afar. 

He  stands  and  listens  hat  in  hand ; 

He  drops  upon  his  knee, 
Praying  to  God  and  Mary  mild 

His  true  love  he  may  see. 

Scarce  has  he  entered  Grenoble  town 

When  his  true  love  appears. 
Beside  her  thirty  gentle  dames 

And  twenty  cavaliers. 

"0  you  who  carry  my  true  love, 

I  pray  you  give  me  place! 
Uncover  me  the  bier, "  he  cries; 

"  Let  me  see  her  face.  " 


76     rolK-Dallads  of  SoutKern  Bvirope 

Pierre  n'a  tir^  son  espdie, 

Le  drap  n'a  perce, 
Quand  il  a  vu  son  blanc  visage, 

II  n'a  ren verse; 
Quand  il  a  vu  son  blanc  visage, 

II  n'a  trepass^. 

Que  diront  les  gens  de  Grenoble 

De  ces  amoureux? 
Diront:  "L'un  pour  I'amour  de  I'autre, 

lis  sont  morts  tous  deux." 

Smith,  Victor:   Vielles  Chansons  du  Velay  et  du  Forez,  Romania 
(Paris,  1878),  vol.  vii.,  pp.  83-84. 

LA   SPOSA  MORTA 

Gentil  galant  s'l'aute  muntagne 

I'a  senti  le  cioche  sun^: 
— A  sara-lo  mia  spuzetta, 

che  a  la  porto  a  sutere? — 
Gentil  galant  a  I'd  anda  a  caza, 

I'a  truva  la  porta  sara: 
— O  vezine,  mie  vezine, 

mia  spuzetta  duv  e-la  and^? 
— Vostra  spuzetta  Vh  anda  a  la  ceza, 

a  la  ceza  ben  cumpagna. 
Gun  sinquanta  e  due  torce 

a  faziu  la  liimina. — 
Gentil  galant  va  a  la  ceza, 

a  I'a  dumanda-la  a  auta  vus, 
A  auta  vus  a  I'a  dumanda-la ; 

a  bassa  vus  a  j'a  rispus: 


TKe  Dead   Bride  77 

Pierre  has  drawn  his  shining  sword 

And  pierced  the  funeral  pall; 
He  looks  upon  her  snow-white  face 

To  stagger  back  and  fall; 
He  looks  upon  her  snow-white  face 

And  dies  before  them  all. 

All  the  good  folk  of  Grenoble  town, 

What  is  this  they  say? 
"These  were  true  lovers  and  for  love 

Both  lie  dead  to-day." 


THE   DEAD   BRIDE 

{Piedmontese) 

A  gallant  youth  on  the  high  mountains, 
Far  off  hears  the  church  bells  ring; 

"For  my  bride  they  must  be  sounding, 
Carried  to  her  burying." 

The  gallant  youth,  returning  homeward, 
Finds  his  own  door  bolted  fast: 

"O  my  neighbors,  my  dear  neighbors, 
Who  has  seen  my  sweet  wife  last?" 

"Your  sweet  bride,  so  fair  attended, 
To  the  church  has  gone  to-day; 

Two  and  fifty  flaming  torches 
Lighted  her  along  the  way. " 

To  the  church  has  gone  the  gallant. 
Loud  he  calls  upon  his  dead : 

With  loud  voice  he  called  unto  her. 
With  soft  voice  she  answerM. 


78     FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  E.virope 

— Cul  anlin  ch'i  I'avei  spuza-me, 

guard^-lo  si  ch'l'ai  ant  el  dil. 
O  pie-lo,  spuze-ne  n'autra, 

di-e  ch'a  prega  Dio  per  mi. 
Di-e  ch'a  's  cata  una  curunina 

e  ch'a  la  dia  tre  volte  al  di ; 
Due  volte  sara  per  chila, 

iina  volta  sara  per  mi. — 

Nigra,  C:  Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,  1888),  No_ 
17  A,  pp.  120-124. 


LA  SPOSA  MORTA 

L'uzelin  a  I'era  sii  la  rama, 

sii  la  rama  ch'a  godeva  '1  sul, 
A  risguardava  Catalinota, 

Catalinota,  ch'a  moir  d'amur. 
Gentil  galant  su  I'aute  muntagne 

a  I'a  senti  le  cioche  sun^: 
— Sara-lo  '1  segn  dla  Catalinota, 

ch'a  I'e  morta  da  maride? — 
Quand  I'e  stait  su  cule  coline 

a  1'^  vedii  le  torce  liizi: 
— Sar^-lo  furse  la  liiminaria 

ch'a  I'acumpagna  a  sepeli? 
0  portandin  che  porte  la  bela, 

o  ripozei-ve  e  pozei-la  'n  po' ! 
Pozei-la  si  sii  la  violeta, 

che  ancur  na  volta  la  bazer6. 


Oatalinota  79 

"Thine  own  ring  as  when  we  wedded, 

Still  upon  my  finger,  see ; 
Take  it,  wed  with  it  another; 

Bid  her  pray  to  God  for  me. 

"Tell  her  that  she  must  be  saying 

Every  day  her  rosary. 
Twice  a  day  for  herself  praying. 

Praying  the  third  time  for  me. " 


CATALINOTA 

(Piedmontese) 

A  little  bird  high  on  the  branches  swinging, 
High  up  and  happy  in  the  sun  above, 

Is  looking  down  upon  Catalinota, 
Catalinota  who  lies  dead  of  love. 

A  gallant  youth  far  off  upon  the  mountains 

Hears  the  chimes  ring  and  wonders:  "Can  it  be 

That  the  bells  toll  for  my  Catalinota, 
Catalinota,  dead  for  love  of  me?" 

When  he  is  standing  high  up  on  the  hill-top, 
Down  there  below  he  sees  the  torches'  light: 

"If  that  should  be  the  torches  in  procession, 
A-carrying  her  to  burial  to-night! 

"0  bearers,  bearers,  carrying  my  beauty, 
Halt  for  a  little  and  set  down  the  bier; 

Set  it  down  softly  there  upon  the  violets, 
And  for  the  last  time  let  me  kiss  my  dear. 


8o     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  Evirope 

O  parla,  parla,  bucheta  morta, 

o  parla,  parla,  bucheta  d'or! 
O  di-me  sul  che  na  paroleta, 

o    a-me  sul  che  'n  bazin  d'amur. 
— O  cume  mai  voli-ve  che  v'  parla, 

e  che  vi  daga  'n  bazin  d'amur? 
Mia  buca  morta  Vk  odur  di  terra, 

ch'a  I'era,  viva,  di  roze  e  fiur. 
Vostr'anelin  che  vui  i  m'ei  d^-me, 

guard^-lo  si  ch'a  1'^  'nt  el  me  di ; 
Pid-lo  piira  e  d^-lo  a  un'  autra, 

e  tiiti  dui  pregherei  per  mi. — 

Nigra,  C:  Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte     (Torino,  1888),  No. 
17  D,  pp.  120-124. 

DANZE   E   FUNERALI 

Sun  lev^-me  la  matin     {Povero  amor!) 

la  matin  ben  da  bunura.     {Rosignolhi  d  'amor!) 
Sun  anddit  ant  el  giardin 

a  coji  la  bianca  fiura. 
I  I'di  fait  dui  buchetin, 

un  per  mi,  I'aut  per  mia  sgnura. 
— Pi6,  vui  bela,  cust  massolin; 

custa  a  1'^  la  dispartia, 
La  dispartia  tra  mi  e  vui, 

me  pare  vol  nen  ch'i  v'  pia; 
A  vol  nen  ch'  i  spuza  vui, 

vol  ch'  i  spuza  n'autra  fia; 
L'd  pa  tan  bela  cum'  vui, 

ma  s'a  1'^  tin  po'  pi  rica. 


Bridal  Dance  and  Fxineral  8l 

"Speak,  oh,  speak  to  me,  dear  little  dead  mouth! 

Speak  to  me,  speak,  dear  little  mouth  of  gold ! 
Say  to  me  just  one  little  word  of  loving, 

Give  me  one  little  love-kiss  like  the  old." 

"How  can  I  ever,  how  can  I  speak  to  you? 

How  can  I  give  j^ou  a  kiss  of  love  and  death? 
My  little  mouth  smells  of  the  earth  in  dying. 

That  when  I  lived  was  like  the  roses'  breath. 

"The  little  ring  that  long  ago  you  gave  me, 

I  wear  it  still  upon  my  finger,  see! 
Take  it  away  and  give  it  to  another; 

And  both  of  you  say  prayers  to  God  for  me. " 


BRIDAL   DANCE   AND   FUNERAL 

(Piedmontese) 

I  was  up  in  the  morning  early 

Alas,  poor  Love! 
Up  in  the  morning  very  early 

Nightingales  sing  of  love. 

I  went  down  into  the  garden, 
Gathering  white  flowers  there ; 

For  myself  I  made  a  nosegay. 
And  one  for  my  lady  fair. 

"Take,  my  beauty,  take  these  flowers, 
For  our  parting  they  must  be. 

Our  last  parting,  for  my  father 
Will  not  let  you  marry  me ; 

"Will  not  let  us  two  be  married; 

Bids  me  wed  another  bride; 
One  who  has  not  half  your  beauty, 

But  more  riches  and  more  pride. 


I 


82     FolK-Dallads  of  SovitKern  E-virope 

E  quand  ben  ve  spuzi  pa, 

i  v'invito  a  le  mie  nosse. 
— A  le  nosse  voi  pa  veni, 

veniro  a  le  vostre  danse. 
Vestiro  di  satin  bianc, 

o  pur  di  scarlata  russa, 
O  piira  di  broca  d'or, 

I'e  per  tant  che  mi  conusse. — 
La  bela  ariva  siil  bal, 

a  Vkn  suna-je  na  dansa. 
La  bela  I'a  fait  tin  gir, 

I'd  casca  'n  tera  morta. 
Bel  galant  I'a  fdit  dui  gir, 

Vk  casca  da  I'autra  banda. 

Nigra,  C:  Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,   1888),  No. 
20  A,  pp.  139-141- 

FIOR  DI  TOMBA 

Di  1^  da  cui  boscage 

Na  bela  fia  a  j'd; 
So  pare  e  sua  mare 

La  volo  maridd. 
A  volo  dd-i-la  a  un  prinsi 

Fiol  d'imperadur. 
"  Mi  voi  nh  re  ne  prinsi 

Fiol  d'imperadur; 
D6i-me  cul  giuvinoto 

Ch'a  j'd  'n  cula  perzun." 
"O  fia  dla  mia  fia, 

L'e  pa  'n  parti  da  ti ; 
Duman  a  lindes  ure 

A  lo  faran  miiri." 


I 


Flo-wers  from  tKe  Grave  83 

"On  the  day  when  I  am  married, 
Come  and  wish  me  happy  chance. " 

"I  will  come,  not  to  your  wedding. 
Only  to  your  bridal  dance. 

"I  will  dress  me  in  white  satin; 

No,  in  gown  of  scarlet  fine; 
No,  in  cloth  of  gold,  brocaded, 

You  may  know  me  by  that  sign. " 

The  fair  maid  came  as  the  music 
Played  the  first  dance  for  the  bride; 

The  fair  maiden  danced  one  circle. 
Fell  upon  the  ground  and  died; 

The  brave  lover  danced  two  circles, 
And  fell  dying  at  her  side. 

FLOWERS   FROM  THE   GRAVE 

{Piedmonlese) 

There  lives  a  pretty  maiden, 

Down  there  beyond  the  wood; 

Her  father  and  her  mother 

They  would  make  her  a  marriage  good. 
« 
They  would  marry  her  to  a  noble  prince, 

An  emperor's  son  and  heir. 
"I  do  not  want  a  king  nor  prince, 

Nor  emperor's  son  and  heir; 
But  give  to  me  the  gallant  youth 

Who  is  in  the  prison  there." 

"O  daughter,  O  my  daughter! 

You  cannot  be  his  wife ; 
To-morrow  at  eleven  o'clock. 

They  will  surely  take  his  life. " 


84     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  E.virope 

"S'a  fan  miin  cul  giuvo, 

Ch'a  m'  fasso  miiri  mi; 
Ch'a  m'  fasso  f^  na  tumba 

Ch'a  i  sia  d'  post  per  tri, 
Ch'a  i  stago  pare  e  mare, 

'L  me  amur  an  brass  a  mi. 
"An  sima  a  cvda  tumba 

Piantran  die  roze  e  fiur; 
Tiita  la  gent  ch'a  i  passa 

A  sentiran  I'odur; 
Diran:  'J'e  mort  la  bela, 

L'^  morta  per  I'amur!'" 

Nigra,  C:    Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,  1888),  No. 
19,  pp.  129-139. 

LE   DUE   TOMBE 

Ant  el  bosco  di  Cazale 

bela  fia  va  a  cant^. 
— O  cant^,  cante,  fieta, 

j&n  che  sei  da  maridi! — 
Bel  galant  va  da  so  pare: — 

— Vostra  fia  m'la  voli  d^? — 
So  pare  j'a  fait  risposta, 

ch'a  i  la  vuria  nen  d^. 
Bel  galant  1'^  vnii  malavi 

e  la  bela  a  na  sta  mal. 
Bel  galant  viv  a  panade 

e  la  bela  a  pan  grat^. 
Bel  galant  1'^  mort  a  I'alba 

e  la  bela  al  sul  levd. 
Bel  galant  I'an  sutrd,  an  ceza 

e  la  bela  sul  piassal. 


TKe  T"Wo  Graves  85 

"Oh,  if  they  murder  that  young  man, 

Then  let  them  murder  me ! 
And  let  them  make  a  grave  for  us, 

A  grave  with  places  three, 
One  place  for  father  and  one  for  mother, 

And  but  one  for  my  love  and  me. 
And  at  the  grave's  head  let  them  plant 

A  blossoming  rose  tree. 

"All  the  people  who  pass  by. 

The  roses  they  will  smell ; 
They  will  say :  '  She  died,  the  beauty, 

Because  she  loved  too  well. 

THE  TWO   GRAVES 

{Piedmontese) 

Through  the  forest  of  Casal 

A  fair  maiden  singing  goes ; 
"Sing,  sing  on,  my  pretty  maiden, 

Till  you  're  married,  then  who  knows?" 

A  gay  youth  goes  to  her  father: 
"Your  fair  daughter  to  me  give." 

But  the  father  makes  him  answer: 
"Never,  never!  as  I  live!" 

The  gay  lover  he  falls  ailing. 

And  the  girl  takes  to  her  bed ; 
The  gay  lover  lives  on  porridge. 

And  the  maiden  on  dry  bread. 

The  gay  youth  dies  in  the  dawning, 

And  the  maiden  at  sunrise ; 
She  is  buried  in  the  churchyard, 

And  within  the  church  he  lies. 


86     FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  E^virope 

Sii  la  tumba  d'bel  galant 

j'6  nassu  'n  pumin  gran^, 
Sii  la  tumba  de  la  bela 

j'd  nassu  na  mandol^. 
Tanto  bin  cum  a  cressio, 

fazio  umbra  a  tre  sit^, 
Alessdndria  e  Valensa 

e  la  pi  bela  Cazal. 

Nigra,  C:    Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,  1888),  No. 
18  A,  pp.  125-128. 

LOU   COUNTE   ARNAUD 

Lou  counte  Arnaud,  lou  chibali^, 
A  la  guerre  s'en  est  alle. 

— Counte  Arnaud,  aro  que  t'en  bas, 
Digo-nous  doimc  quant  tourneras. 

— Enta  Sent- Joan  jou  toiimerei ; 
E  mort  ou  biu  aci  serdi. — 

La  Sent- Joan  beng  a  arriba: 

Lou  counte  Arnaud  beng  a  manqua. 

La  bieillo  mounto  au  soul^, 
Bese  lou  counte  Arnaud  arriver. 

Ero  n  'a  bist  tres  cabali^s. 

Lou  counte  Arnaud  qu'es  lou  dou  mi^i. 

— ^Jou  lou  counechi,  au  chibau, 
Qu 'Arnaud  es  triste  e  bien  malau. 

Jou  lou  counechi,  au  bridoun, 

Qu 'Arnaud  beng  triste  en  sa  maisoun. 


Count  Arna-ud  87 

From  the  tomb  of  the  fair  maiden 

There  springs  up  an  almond  tree; 
From  the  tomb  of  the  brave  lover, 

A  pomegranate  fair  to  see. 

They  have  grown  so  tall  and  stately, 
On  three  towns  their  shadows  fall, 

Alessandria  and  Valenza, 
And  the  beautiful  Casal. 


COUNT  ARNAUD 

(Gascon) 

The  Count  Amaud !  the  Count  Amaud ! 
To  the  wars  now  he  will  go. 

"Tell  us,  then,  brave  chevalier, 
When  will  you  again  be  here?" 

"For  Saint  John's  feast,"  Count  Amaud  said, 
"I  shall  come  back,  alive  or  dead." 

But  on  the  mom  of  Saint  John's  Day 
Count  Amaud  is  far  away. 

His  mother  climbs  to  the  tower  window. 
And  straight  three  horsemen  she  has  seen; 

On  either  hand  a  stranger  knight, 

And  good  Count  Amaud  rides  between. 

"I  know  by  the  stepping  of  his  steed 

That  Amaud  rides  in  misery; 
I  know  by  the  rein  in  his  bridle-hand 

My  son  comes  sad  and  ill  to  me. " 


FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitHem  E.\irope 

— Ma  mai,  hasetz  biste  lou  ll^it, 
Que  goaire  n  'i  damourer^i. 

Hasetz  lou  haut  dou  cabess^, 
Sens  que  ma  mio  ac  sabe. 

— O!  Counte  Arnaud,  que  bous  pensatz? 
Un  b^t  enfant  que  bous  quitatz. 

— Ni  per  un  enfant,  ni  per  dus, 
Jou  que  i.on  resusciti  plus. — 

— Mero,  qu'es  ago  praci  bas? 
Semblon  las  oresous  d' Arnaud. 

— La  henno  que  beng  d'enfanta, 
Oresous  nou  diu  escouta. 

— Que  i  a  ?  E  qu^  sounon  dounc  tant  ? 
— La  bero  hesto  de  douman. 

— Se  b^ro  hesto  es  douman, 
Quino  raubo  me  bouteran? 

— La  henno  que  beng  d'enfanta, 
La  raubo  negro  diu  pourta. 

— Qu'es  ac6  aqui  d'escounut, 
Que  lou  counte  Arnaud  a  escriut? 

— Arre.  La  que  beng  d'enfanta, 
A  la  messeto  diu  ana." 

Sa  mio  a  la  messo  s'en  ba, 
Bei  lou  counte  Arnaud  enterra. 

— "Ma  hillo,  que  s'en  cau  touma. 
Beleu  1 'enfant  que  diu  ploura. 


Coxint  7\rna\id  89 

"O  mother,  quickly  make  my  bed, 
I  cannot  wait,"  Count  Amaud  said. 

"Oh,  make  the  pillows  soft  for  me, 
But  do  not  let  my  lady  see. " 

"0  Count  Amaud,  your  lady  true 
Has  borne  a  fair  young  son  to  you. " 

"Not  for  one  child  nor  for  twain, 
Shall  I  ever  rise  again. " 

"Mother,  what  sound  is  that  below? 

It  seems  like  prayers  for  Count  Amaud." 

"A  happy  mother  in  childbed 

Need  not  listen  when  prayers  are  said." 

"Why  are  the  church-bells  ringing  all?" 
"To-morrow  is  high  festival." 

"Since  to-morrow  is  a  great  feast, 
Tell  me,  mother,  which  robe  is  best?" 

"A  woman  whose  baby  is  newborn 

Should  wear  black  robes  the  morrow  mom. " 

"What  is  that  letter?  give  it  me! 
It  is  Count  Amaud's  seal  I  see!" 

"'T  is  nothing,  nothing,  let  it  pass; 
A  young  mother  should  go  to  mass. " 

Just  as  his  wife  to  mass  is  come. 
They  lay  Count  Amaud  in  his  tomb. 

"Daughter,  daughter,  we  must  be  gone, 
The  child  may  wake  and  cry  alone. 


90     FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  ErUrope 

— Aqui  la  clau  dou  men  cintoun. 
Tourni  pas  mes  dens  la  maisoun. 

Terro  sacrado,  et  cau  oubri. 
Jou  boi  parla  au  men  marit. 

Terro  sacrado,  et  cau  barra. 

Dab  moun  marit  boi  damoura. — 

Blad6,  J.-F.:  Poesies  Populaires  de  la  Cascogne  (Paris,  1882), 
vol.  ii.,  pp.  134-141. 

CONTE   ANZOLIN 

Co  el  donte  Anzolin  h  and^  a  cazza 

E  sta  morduto  da  un  can  barbin. 

De  sto  fratempo  ch'el  sta  a  cazza 

La  so  moglie  ha  avuto  un  fantolin. 

E  la  so  mare  che  li  ha  fato  sapere 

Che  lo  so  moglie  ha  fat  un  fantolin  : 

"Se  la  ha  avuto  f^  lo  alevare, 

Che  drento  il  mio  cuore  mi  sento  male; 

Se  lo  ha  avuto  fe  lo  abelire, 

Che  drento  il  mio  cuore  mi  sento  morire. 

Tir^  la  ben  ale  alte  ed  ala  lontana, 

Che  non  la  senta  il  suon  dela  campana." 

"O  madre  piu  che  madona! 

Cossa  xd  che  i  cani  cosi  abaja?" 

"0  fiola  piu  che  nuoreta! 

Lo  sara  ala  porta  una  povereta." 

"A  cao  di  questo  poco  mi  cale, 

Purche  il  conte  non  avesse  male. 

O  madre  piu  che  madona! 

Cossa  xd  ste  campane  che  cosi  suona?" 


Covint  Anzolino  91 

"Keep  my  keys,  my  baby  keep, 

I  may  not  come,  the'  he  should  weep. 

"Open,  holy  earth,"  she  said, 

"I  wotdd  speak  here  with  my  dead. 

"Holy  earth,  be  closed  again; 
With  my  husband  I  remain. " 

COUNT  ANZOLINO 
(  Venetian) 

It  is  Count  Anzolino,  and  he  is  gone  a-hunting; 
He  is  bitten  by  a  hound,  a  mighty  beast  and  wild; 
And  in  the  very  hour  that  he  has  gone  a-hunting 
His  lady  in  her  bower  has  borne  him  a  man  child. 

It  is  his  lady  mother  who  comes  to  him,  telling 
How  the  countess   in  her  bower  has  borne  to  him  a 

child: 
"Oh,  let  the  young  mother  nurse  her  newborn  baby, 
But  deep  in  my  heart  a  deadly  wound  have  I ! 
Oh,  let  the  young  mother  dress  her  newborn  baby. 
But  deep  in  my  heart  I  know  that  I  must  die. 
Guard  my  love  well  in  the  highest,  farthest  chamber, 
That  she  may  not  hear  the  tolling  of  the  bell." 

"0  my  love's  mother,  more  than  my  mother, 

Why  should  my  lord's  hounds  bay  so  loud  and  late?" 

"O  little  daughter,  more  than  my  daughter. 

It  is  only  a  poor  woman  who  would  enter  at  the  gate. " 

"For  all  these  things  little  am  I  caring, 
If  my  Lord  Count  is  faring  safe  and  well. 
O  my  love's  mother,  more  than  my  mother, 
Why  are  they  tolling,  tolling  the  great  bell?" 


92     FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  ErVirope 

"O  fiola  piu  che  nuoreta! 
I  x^  i  pelegrin  che  vien  da  Roma. " 
"O  madre  piu  che  madona! 
Cossa  xe  sti  ochi  che  cosi  piangi?" 


"O  fiola  piu  che  nuoreta! 

L'e  il  fumo  che  vien  del  camino." 

"O  madre  piu  che  madona! 

Cossa  xd  che  i  servitori  cosi  lamenta?" 


"O  fiola  mia  piu  che  nuoreta! 

L'^  mort  il  cavalo  piu  bel'  dela  stala." 

"0  madre  piu  che  madona! 

Cossa  xh  ch^  I'Anzolin  non  vien  trovarme?" 


"O  fiola  piu  che  nuoreta, 

El  conte  Anzolin  h  anda  a  cazza. " 

"O  madre  piu  che  madona! 

Che  veste  go  i  mi  da  meter  in  chiesa?" 


"Metiv  quela  rossa  o  quela  bianca, 
O  metive  quela  negra  per  usanza." 
"Non  voj  vestir  negro  da  vedovela, 
Che  voj  vestirmi  da  sposa  bela. 


"O  madre  piu  che  madona! 

Cossa  x^  che  la  gente  tanto  mi  vard^?" 

"O  fiola  piu  che  nuoreta! 

X^  r  usanza  de  vardar  le  done  che  batezza. 


Covint  A.nzolino  93 

"0  little  daughter,  more  than  my  daughter, 
'Tis  only  for  the  pilgrims  who  come  from  Rome  to- 
day." 
"O  my  love's  mother,  more  than  my  mother. 
Why  are  thy  dear  eyes  weeping  tears  alway?" 

"0  little  daughter,  more  than  my  daughter. 
It  is  only  the  chimney  that  will  be  smoking  still. " 
"O  my  love's  mother,  more  than  my  mother. 
Why  do  the  servants  cry  so  loud  and  shrill?" 

"0  little  daughter,  more  than  my  daughter. 

It  is  because  the  best  of  all  our  steeds  has  died. " 

"O  my  love's  mother,  more  than  my  mother, 

Why  does  Count  Anzolin  not  come  to  my  bedside?" 

"O  little  daughter,  more  than  my  daughter, 

The  Count  Anzolin  has  ridden  to  the  chase." 

"O  my  love's  mother,  more  than  my  mother, 

To  go  to  the  church,  what  gown  were  most  in  place?" 

"Wear  the  gown  of  rose,  or  wear  the  gown  of  white, 

dear. 
Yet  perhaps  the  gown    of  black  is  fitter  than  the 

white." 
' '  Like  a  bride  I  will  dress  me  in  the  gown    that 's 

fairest, 
Not  like  a  little  widow  in  weeds  as  black  as  night. 

"O  my  love's  mother,  more  than  my  mother, 
Why  are  all  the  people  staring  as  I  pass?" 
"O  my  little  daughter,  more  than  my  daughter, 
They  are  always  staring  when  ladies  go  to  mass. " 


94     FolK-Dallads  of  SovitHern  Europe 

"O  madre  piu  che  madona! 

Cossa  xe  sta  sepoltura  cosi  fresca?" 

"O  fiola  piu  che  nuoreta! 

Che  dele  souse  io  ne  ho  cata  ben  cento, 

II  conte  Anzolin  che  xe  drento." 

"O  sepultura  verde!  apri  le  tue  porte! 

Che  in  brazzo  del  mio  ben  voglio  andare. 

O  sepultura  verde!  tornati  poi  serare, 

Che  in  brazzo  del  mio  ben  voglio  stare." 

"O  fiola  piu  che  nuoreta! 

Cossa  fare  del  putel  in  cuneta?" 

"Cola  mia  dote  alevelo, 

Cola  dote  del  mio  mari  dotard  lo." 

Wolf,  Adolf:  Volkslieder  ausVenetien  {May,  1864;  Akademie 
der  Wissenschaften),  No.  82. 


L'ANELLO 

'Nucoppa  la  montagnella     (bis) 
'Ddo  stanno  li  pastor, 
Nee  steano  tre  sorelle  (bis) 
E  tutte  e  tre  d'ammor. 

Cecilia,  la  cchiia  bella 
Volette  naviga' ; 
Ppe'  vede',  poveriella, 
Fortuna  de  trov^. 

"Belo  pescatoriello, 
Vene  a  pesca'  cchiu  cc^, 
E  pescame  Taniello 
Ch  'a  mare  mm '  d  casc^ ' . " 


The  Ring'  95 

"0  my  love's  mother,  more  than  my  mother, 
What  is  that  grave  that  looks  so  fresh  and  new?" 
"0  my  little  daughter,  more  than  my  daughter, 
I  have  given  a  hundred  answers,  now  what  shall  I  do? 
It  is  Count  Anzolino  in  that  new  grave  lies  low. " 

"0  new-made  grave,  let  thy  gates  be  opened, 

To  the  arms  of  my  beloved  needs  now  must  I  go. 

0  new-made  grave,  be  locked  again  forever. 

From  the  arms  of  my  beloved  I  will  be  parted  never. " 

"0  little  daughter,  more  than  my  daughter, 
What  of  the  child  in  his  cradle  lies  asleep?" 

"With  my  dower  and  my  husband's  care  for  him  and 
keep." 

THE  RING 

{Neapolitan) 

I  know  a  mountain  valley, 
I  know  a  mountain  valley, 

And  shepherds'  huts  above, 
And  there  live  three  fair  sisters, 
And  there  live  three  fair  sisters, 

And  all  the  three  in  love. 

Cecilia  will  go  rowing. 

The  fairest  of  them  all; 
Poor  child,  she  is  for  knowing 

What  fortune  may  befall ! 

"O  fisher  lad,  so  brave  and  fine, 

Come  here  and  fish  for  me; 
Come  and  fish  out  this  ring  of  mine 

That  is  fallen  in  the  sea!" 


96     FolK-Dallads  of  SoutKern  Hvirope 

Voce  de  campaniello, 
Respunne  'o  pescator: 
"Te  pigliero  raniello, 
•Ma  che  mme  daje  allor?" 
"  'Na  povera  zitella 
Che  te  po'  riala?" 
"D'ammore  'n'  occhiatella 
Basta  ppe'  mme  paga!" 

Casetti  e  Imbriani:  Canti  Popolari  delle  Provincie  Meridionali 
(Torino,  187 1-2),  vol.  ii.,  p.  118  {Variante  Napoletana). 

LA  ERMITA  DE  SAN  SIMON 

En  Sevilla  estd  una  hermita 
Cual  dicen  de  San  Simon, 
Adonde  todas  las  damas 
iban  k  hacer  oracion. 
All^  va  la  mi  senora, 
sobre  todas  la  mejor. 
Saya  lleva  sobre  saya, 
mantillo  de  un  tomasol; 
en  la  su  boca  muy  linda 
lleva  un  poco  de  dulzor, 
en  la  su  cara  muy  blanca 
lleva  un  poco  de  color, 
y  en  los  sus  ojuelos  garzos 
lleva  un  poco  de  alcohol, 
d  la  entrada  de  la  hermita 
relumbrando  como  el  sol. 
El  abad  que  dice  la  misa 
no  la  puede  decir,  non ; 
monacillos  que  le  ayudan 
no  aciertan  responder,  non ; 


TKe  SKrine  of  San  Simon  97 

With  a  voice  like  to  a  chiming  bell, 

The  fisher  made  reply : 
"  Oh,  I  can  find  the  ring  right  well, 

But  what  reward  have  I?" 

"I  am  only  a  little  maid  and  poor, 

What  should  I  give  to  thee?" 
"One  love-look  from  those  eyes,  be  sure. 

Is  pay  enough  for  me. " 


THE   SHRINE   OF  SAN   SIMON 

(Cast  Hi  an) 

In  Seville  there  is  a  shrine 
Called  San  Simon, 
Where  all  the  ladies 
Go  for  orison. 

There  goes  my  lady, 

And  she  's  the  prettiest  one, 

In  skirt  over  skirt,  and  a  mantle 

That  changes  with  the  sun. 

On  her  sweet  mouth 
Is  a  holy  hush. 
On  her  fair  face 
Is  a  little  blush. 

In  her  dancing  azure  eyes 
Is  a  little  alcohol ; 
She  glistens  as  she  enters. 
Like  a  sunbeam  on  the  wall. 

The  priest  who  chants  the  mass 
Cannot  chant  it  through; 
The  little  acolytes 
Forget  what  they  should  do; 


98     FolK-Dallacls  of  SoutKern  Europe 

por  decir:  amen,  amen, 

decian:  amor,  amor.  | 

Wolf  y  Hofmann:    Primavera  (Berlin,  1856),  vol.  ii.,  p.  62. 


LA  BELLE  AU  JARDIN   D'AMOUR 

La  belle  est  au  jardin  d'amour, 

Elle  y  a  pass6  la  semaine. 
Son  pere  la  cherche  partout 

Et  son  amant  en  grande  peine. 

"  Demande  la-z-^  ce  berger, 

S'il  I'a  vu',  qu'il  nous  I'enseigne." 

"Berger,  n'as-tu  pas  vu  passer 
Une  fille  la  beaute  m^me?" 

"O  comment  est-elle  vetue?" 

"Elle  est  vetue  en  soie  ou  en  laine, 

Elle  est  vetu'  d'un  blanc  satin, 
Et  son  mouchoir  couleur  de  rose." 

"Elle  est  Ik  bas  dans  ces  vallons, 
Assise  au  bord  d'une  fontaine, 

Entre  ses  mains  tient  un  oiseau 
A  qui  la  belle  conte  ses  peines." 

"Petit  oiseau,  que  tu  es  heureux 
D'etre  dans  les  mains  de  ma  belle, 

Quand  moi  qui  suis  son  serviteur 
Je  n'ose  pas  m'approcher  d'elle! 

"Que  sert  d'etre  auprds  du  ruisseau, 
D'endurer  la  soif  que  j 'endure?" 

"N 'endure  pas,  mon  bel  ami, 
Buvez  puisque  le  bon  vin  dure." 


TKe  Maiden  in  tKe  Garden  of  Love  99 

Instead  of  singing  Amen,  Amen, 
To  God  above, 

The  boys  respond  Amor,  Amor, 
Love,  love. 

THE  MAIDEN  IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 

{French) 

The  maiden  is  in  Love's  garden, 
She  has  lingered  all  the  week; 

Her  father  and  her  lover 
Far  and  wide  they  seek. 

"Ask  her  of  yonder  shepherd, 

Haply  he  may  have  seen." 
"Shepherd,  have  you  seen  passing 

A  maiden  like  a  queen?" 

"What  was  the  maiden's  clothing, 

Silk,  or  woolen  brown?" 
"She  wore  a  rosy  kerchief, 

And  a  white  satin  gown." 

"She  is  down  there  in  the  valley, 

Beside  the  fountain's  brim, 
She  holds  a  bird  within  her  hands. 

And  tells  her  griefs  to  him." 

"0  birdling,  thou  art  happy. 

In  my  love's  hands  so  dear, 
While  I,  who  am  her  lover. 

Dare  not  to  come  a-near. 

"What  use  to  be  beside  the  stream, 
And  suffer  thirst  like  mine?" 

"Suffer  no  more,  my  lover; 

Drink,  since  there  is  good  wine. " 


loo  FolK-Ballads  of  So\atKern  E,\irope 

"Que  sert  d'etre  aupres  du  rosier, 

Sans  en  pouvoir  cueillir  la  rose?" 
"Cueillissez,  amant,  cueillissez, 

Car  c'est  pour  vous  qu'elles  sont  ^closes." 

Smith,  Victor:   Vielles  Chansons  du  Velay  et  du  Forez,  Romania 
(Paris,  1878),  vol.  vii.,  p.  61. 


L'UCCELLO   MESSAGGIERO 

S'a  i  sun  tre  sule  ddime,  ch'a  van  cojend  le  fiur. 
Tra  lur  a  discurio: — S'a  i  fiiss  si  i  nostri  amur! — 
L'uzlin  I'era  sla  rama,  scutava  sti  discurs: 


— Coza  pagrie,  vui  bele,  s'i  v'  fass  da  ambassadur? 
J'a  di-je  la  primiera: — Pagria  burseta  d'or. — 
J'a  di-je  la  secunda: — Pagria  'n  buchet  di  fiur. — 
La  tersa,  la  pi  bela: — Pagria  'n  bazin  d'amur. — 


L'uzlin  Vk  sbatu  j'ale,  a  1'^  vol^  sla  tur, 
Vola  d'an  sala  an  sala,  n'in  trova  j'amatur: 
— Uzlin,  chi  t'a  manda-te,  da  fe  1 'ambassadur? 
— Mi  mando  tre  fiete  per  ciam^  i  so  amur. 


XKe  Bird  Messenger  loi 

"What  use  to  stand  beside  the  bush, 

Nor  dare  the  rose  to  take?" 
"Gather  the  roses,  dear  my  love; 

They  blossom  for  your  sake. " 


THE   BIRD   MESSENGER 

{Piedmontese) 

Three  ladies  went  a-walking 
Among  the  garden  bowers; 

They  said:  "Would  we  had  with  us 
Those  lovers  brave  of  ours. " 

A  little  bird,  all  silent, 

Listened  among  the  flowers. 

"What  will  you  pay  me,  ladies, 

To  be  ambassador?" 
The  first  said:  "I  will  pay  thee 

This  purse  of  gold,  and  more. " 

"I  will  pay,"  said  the  second, 
"A  nosegay  sweet,  like  this." 

And  the  third,  who  was  the  fairest; 
"  I  will  pay  a  true-love  kiss. " 

The  little  bird  went  flying 
Past  tower  and  roof  and  tree, 

From  hall  to  hall,  until  he  came 
Where  sat  the  lovers  three. 

"O  little  bird,  who  sent  thee 

To  be  ambassador?" 
"Three  pretty  m.aids  who  sadden 

To  see  their  loves  once  more." 


102  FolK-Dallacls  of  SoxatKern  Evirope 

— E  coza  t'^nh-ne  da-te,  da  f^  I'ambassadur? 

— Unha  m's  dait  na  bursa,  I'autra  iin  buchet  di  fiur, 

La  tersa  la  pi  bela  m'a  da  'n  bazin  d'amur. 

— Uzlin,  va  di-je  ch'a  speto,  n'andrun  seine  cun  lur. — 

Nigra,  C:    Canii  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,  1888),  No. 
62  A,  pp.  338-340. 


LOU  HILL  DOU  REI  E  SA  MASTRESSO 

La  bilo  de  Nerac 
Disoun  qu'es  tant  poulido. 
Co  que  n'es  enco^  mds, 
Soun  tres  charmantos  hillos. 

La  mds  bero  qu'i  a, 
Dou  rei  ero  I'amigo. 
Se  leuo  de  maitin, 
E  s'en  ba  a  la  bigno. 

Lou  hill  dou  rM  la  bei: 
Asta  leu  I'a  sieguido, 
A  Tentrado  d'un  bosc, 
L'a  perdudo  de  bisto. 

Rencountro  un  bignairoun, 
Que  poudauo  sa  bigno. 
"Bignaire,  bignairoun, 
Que  poudatz  basto  bigno, 

Auretz  pas  bist  passa 
Margarido,  ma  mio?" 


TKe  Ring's  Son  I03 

"O  bird,  what  did  they  pay  you, 

These  three  sweethearts  of  ours?" 
"The  first  paid  me  a  purse  of  gold, 

The  next  a  bunch  of  flowers ; 

"But  the  third  gave  me  a  true-love  kiss, 

The  third,  who  is  most  fair. " 
"Go,  pray  them  to  wait  supper; 

We  surely  will  be  there. " 

THE  KING'S  SON 

{Gascon) 

The  little  town  of  Nerac, 

They  say  it  is  so  fair; 
The  little  town  of  Nerac, 

Three  pretty  girls  are  there. 

The  prettiest  one  of  all  the  three 

Is  loved  by  the  king's  son; 
She  is  up  in  the  early  morning, 

And  to  the  vineyard  gone. 

The  king's  son  he  has  seen  her; 

He  follows  her  afar; 
But  he  has  lost  her  from  his  sight 

Where  the  branches  thickest  are. 

He  meets  with  a  vine-dresser, 

A-pruning  of  his  vine; 
"0  vine-dresser,  vine-dresser! 

A-pruning  of  your  vine. 
Tell  me,  have  you  seen  Marguerite, 

A  sweetheart  of  mine?" 


104  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  E.virope 

"Ndni,  certos,  moussu 
Nou  Vki  bisto,  ni  aujido." 

"Cent  escutz  bailleri, 
A  qui  me  I'ensegnesso. 
Ne  bailleri  plan  m^s: 
Ne  bailleri  tres  milo." 

"Moussu,  countatz  I'argent. 
Entratz  deguens  ma  bigno. 
Moussu,  o^ratz  la-bas, 
Debat  aquesto  aumo." 

Que  hh  un  ramelet, 
De  flous  las  mds  poulidos. 
"Has6tz-ne  un  per  jou, 
Margarido,  ma  mio." 

"Moussu,  nou  podi  pas: 
Las  rosos  soun  finidos. 
Lou  roumarin  es  mort: 
E  la  saujo  lassido." 

Blade,  J.-F.:    Poesies  Populaires  de  la  Gascogne  (Paris,  1882), 
vol.  ii.,  pp.  184-189. 

ADIU,   MARGARIDOTO 

{Cansoun  d'amou) 

— "Adiu,  Margaridoto, 
Mas  prum^ros  amous. 
Oun  soun  las  cansounetos 
Que  pariauon  de  nous? 

— N'en  boli  entene  a  dise, 
Ni  n'entene  a  paria. 
Deguens  la  ma  floutanto, 
M'en  angu^rdi  nega. 


The  King's  Son  105 

"No,  surely,  monsieur, 

I  give  you  my  word, 
Not  a  maid  this  morning 

Have  I  seen  or  heard. " 

"  I  would  give  a  hundred  ^cus 

To  one  would  show  her  me; 
Nay,  I  would  give  far  more  than  that, 

I  would  give  thousands  three. " 

"  Count  out  your  money,  monsieur, 

Enter  my  vineyard  here; 
Look  down  below  to  yonder  tree; 

Is  not  that  your  dear?" 

She  has  made  a  little  bower, 

Of  the  flowers  that  grow  most  sweet ; 

"Pray  you  make  another 
Forme,  Marguerite." 

"No,  monsieur,  I  cannot; 

The  rosemary  is  dead; 
The  roses  are  all  fallen. 

And  the  sage  is  wither M. " 

ADIEU,    MARGUERIDETTE 
(Gascon) 

"Adieu,  Margueridette, 

My  earliest  love,  adieu ; 
Where  are  all  the  little  songs 

That  tell  of  me  and  you?" 

"I  will  not  listen  to  a  word 

That  tells  of  you  and  me; 
I  will  go  and  drown  myself, 

Floating  in  the  sea. " 


io6  FolK-Dallads  of  SoutHern  E-urope 

— Se  dens  la  ma  floutanto, 
Te  bos  ana  nega, 
Me  bouterdi  pescaire, 
E  t'aurei  en  pescan. 

— Se  te  boutos  pescaire, 
Que  m'aujos  en  pescan,, 
Me  bouterei  floureto, 
Dens  un  jardin  ta  gran. 

— Se  te  boutos  floureto. 
Dens  un  jardin  ta  gran, 
Me  bouterei  abeillo. 
Te  baiserei  souvent. 

— Se  te  boutos  abeillo. 
Que  me  baises  souvent, 
Me  bouterei  estelo, 
Deguens  lou  ceu  ta  gran. 

— Se  te  boutos  estelo, 
Deguens  lou  ceu  ta  gran. 
Me  bouterei  nuatge, 
Te  passerei  dauant. 

— Se  te  boutos  nuatge, 
Que  me  passes  dauant, 
Ne  toumberei  mourteto. 
En  terro  m'enterreran. 

— Se  ne  toumbos  mourteto, 
En  terro  t'enterreran. 
Me  bouterei  lauraire, 
E  t'aurei  en  lauran. 


-Adievi,  Margiaeridette  107 

"If  you  will  go  and  drown  yourself, 

Floating  in  the  sea, 
I  will  be  a  fisherman 

And  take  you  in  my  net." 

"  If  you  will  be  a  fisherman 

And  take  me  in  your  net, 
I  will  make  myself  a  little  flower 

In  a  great  garden  set." 

"If  you  will  be  a  little  flower, 

In  a  great  garden  set, 
I  will  turn  into  a  bee, 

And  kiss  you  every  day. " 

"  If  you  will  turn  into  a  bee, 
And  kiss  me  every  day, 
I  will  make  myself  a  star. 
In  heaven  so  far  away." 

"  If  you  will  make  yourself  a  star 

In  heaven  so  far  away, 
I  will  turn  into  a  cloud 

Before  your  face  to  drift. " 

"If  you  will  turn  into  a  cloud 

Before  my  face  to  drift, 
I  will  quickly  fall  down  dead 

And  be  buried  without  shrift. " 

"If  you  should  quickly  fall  down  dead 

And  be  buried  without  shrift, 
I  will  be  a  husbandman 

And  find  you  with  my  spade. " 


io8  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  E.virope 

— Se  te  boutos  lauraire, 
Que  m'aujos  en  lauran — 
Moun  Diu,  cau  que  te  prengue, 
Car  es  un  fin  galant." 

Blade,  J.-F.:  Poesies  Populaires  de  la  Gascogne  (Paris,  1882), 
vol.  ii,  pp.  360-365. 


-Adieu,  Marg'xieridette  109 

"If  you  will  be  a  husbandman 

And  find  me  with  your  spade, 
I  may  as  well  have  you  for  my  love 

For  a  gallanter  never  was  made. " 


Ballads  of  Murder 


IIX 


DONA   LOMBARDA 

— Amei-me  mi,  dona  Lombarda,  amei-me  mi,  amei- 

me  mi. 
— 0  cume  mai  voli  che  fassa,  che  j'6  '1  mari,  che  j'd 

'1  mart? 
— Vestro  mart,  dona  Lombarda,  Ui-lo  miin,   f^i-lo 

murt. 
— O  cume  mai  voli  che  fassa,  f^-lo  miin,  f^-lo  muri? 
— Mi  v'mustrerd  d'una  manera  d'f^-lo  miirt,    d'fd-lo 

murt. 

Ant  el  giardin  dard  la  caza  j'^  un  serpentin,  j'^  tin 

serpen  tin. 
Pi^-je  la  testa  e  poi  pistei-la,  pistei-la  bin,  pistei-la  bin ; 
E  poi  butei-la  ant  el  vin  neiro,  d^-je  da  bei,  d^-je  da 

bei; 
Che  '1  voss  mart  ven  da  la  cassa  cun  tanta  sei,  cun 

tanta  sei. 


112 


I  t  ',  w 


DONNA   LOMBARDA 

(Piedmonfese) 

\^        "Love  me,  oh,  love  me,  Donna  Lombarda! 
Love  only  me,  love  only  me!" 

"I  have  a  husband;  how  would'st  thou  have  me 
,   ,-v     To  love  only  thee,  to  love  only  thee?" 

—  "Do  him  to  death,  Donna  Lombarda, 
Do  him  to  death,  and  love  only  me. " 

"How  shall  I  slay  him?  after  what  fashion? 
,--         To  love  only  thee,  to  love  only  thee. " 

"There  is  a  fashion.  Donna  Lombarda, 
There  is  a  fashion  easy  for  thee. 

"In  thine  own  garden.  Donna  Lombarda, 
Close  to  thy  house  lies  a  poisonous  snake. 

"Cut  off  its  head,  Donna  Lombarda, 

With  mortar  and  pestle  pound  it  and  break. 

"Thou  shalt  poison  his  cup,  Donna  Lombarda, 
Even  with  this  when  he  asks  thee  for  wine ; 

"For  thy  husband  will  come  hot  from  his  hunting, 
And  beg  thee  for  wine,  and  beg  thee  for  wine." 


114  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  ErVirope 

— Dei-me  del  vin,  dona  Lombarda,  j'6  tanta  sei,  j'6 

tanta  sei. 
Coz'j'ei-ve  fait,    dona  Lombarda,  L'e  anturbidi,  1'^ 

anturbidi. 
— El  veint  marin  de  I'autra  seira  I'a  anturbidi,  I'a 

anturbidi. 
— Beivi-lo  ti,  dona  Lombarda,  beivi-lo  ti,  beivi-lo  ti. 
— 0  cume  mai  voli  che  fassa,  che  j'6  nin  sei,  che  j'd 

nin  sei? 
— L'd  per  la  punta  de  la  mia  speja  t'lo  beverei,  t'lo 

beverei. 


La  prima  gussa  ch'a  n'a  beivii-ne, 

dona  Lombarda  cambia  colur. 
La  sgunda  gussa  ch'a  n'a  beivii-ne, 

dona  Lombarda  ciama  '1  consur. 
La  tersa  gussa  ch'a  n'a  beivii-ne, 

dona  Lombarda  ciama  '1  sotrur. 

Nigra,  C:    Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,  i888),  No. 
I  A,  pp.  1-30. 


L'AVELLENATO 


— Dove  si  sta  jersira, 

Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 

Dove  si  sta  jersira? 


^^ 


Donna  Lombarda  I15 

"I  have  so  great  thirst,  Donna  Lombarda, 
.-^  Give  me  to  drink,  give  me  to  drink. 

"What  hast  thou  done.  Donna  Lombarda? 
The  wine  is  beclouded,  what  dost  thou  think?" 

^  "There  came  in  the  sea-wind  last  night  at  sunset; 
^    It  clouded  the  wine,  it  clouded  the  wine." 

"Drink  with  me  then.  Donna  Lombarda, 
Drink  from  the  one  cup,  thy  lips  with  mine!" 

,,--"Why  should  I  drink,  who  come  not  from  hunting? 
Why  should  I  drink,  who  am  not  athirst?" 


"Nay,  thou  shalt  drink.  Donna  Lombarda; 

At  the  point  of  my  dagger  thou  shalt  drink  first!" 


With  the  first  drop  Donna  Lombarda 
Loses  her  color  so  rose-red  and  brave; 

With  the  next  drop  Donna  Lombarda 
Calls  her  confessor  to  shrive  her  and  save; 

With  the  third  drop  Donna  Lombarda 
Calls  for  the  sexton  to  dig  her  a  grave. 


THE   POISONED   LOVER 

(Fiedmontese) 

"Where  were  you  yesterevening, 
Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 
Where  were  you  yesterevening?" 


Ii6  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  E,\jrope 

— S6n  st4  dalla  mia  dama: 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
S6n  sta  dalla  mia  dama : 

Ohim^,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— Cossa  v'hall  da  de  c^na, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Cossa  v'halla  da  de  cena? 
— On  inguilletta  arrosto : 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal ! 
On  inguilletta  arrosto : 

Ohim^,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— L'avi  mangiada  tiitta, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
L'avi  mangiada  tiitta? 
— Non  n'ho  mangia  che  mezza: 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
No  n'ho  mangia  che  mezza: 

Ohime,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— Coss'avi  fa  dell'altra  mezza, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Cossa  avi  fa  dell'altra  mezza? 
— L'ho  dada  alia  cagnola: 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
L'ho  dada  alia  cagndla: 

Ohim^,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— Cossa  avi  fa  della  cagnola, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Cossa  avi  f4  della  cagndla? 


XHe  Poisoned  Lover  117 

"I  have  been  with  my  sweetheart; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

1  have  been  with  my  sweetheart ; 
0  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"What  supper  did  she  give  you, 
Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 
What  supper  did  she  give  you?" 

"A  little  eel  a-roasted; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

A  little  eel  a-roasted ; 

O  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"And  did  you  eat  the  whole,  then, 

Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 

And  did  you  eat  the  whole,  then?" 

"Only  the  half  I  've  eaten; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

Only  the  half  I  've  eaten; 

O  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"What  did  you  with  the  leavings, 
Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 
What  did  you  with  the  leavings?" 

"I  gave  them  to  my  good  hound; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

1  gave  them  to  my  good  hound; 

0  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"Where  have  you  left  your  good  hound, 

Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 

Where  have  you  left  your  good  hound?" 


Ii8  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  Exirope 

— L'^  morta  dre  la  strada : 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
L'e  morta  dre  la  strada: 

Ohime,  ch'io  moro,  ohime! — 
— L'ha  v'ha  giiist  da  '1  veleno, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil: 
L'ha  v'ha  giiist  da  '1  veleno. 
— Mandd  a  ciama  '1  dottdre : 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal ! 
Mande  a  ciama  '1  dottore: 

Ohim^,  ch'io  moro,  ohime! — 
— Perche  vori  ciama  '1  dottore, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Perche  vori  ciama  '1  dottore? 
— Per  farmi  visitare : 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
Per  farmi  visitare: 

Ohime,  ch'io  moro,  ohime! — 
— Mande  a  ciama  '1  ciirato : 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal ! 
Mande  a  ciama  '1  ciirato : 

Ohime,  ch'io  moro,  ohime! — 
— Perchd  vori  ciama  '1  ciirato, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Perche  vori  ciama  '1  ciirato? 
— Per  farmi  conf essare : 
Sign6ra  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal ! 
Per  farmi  conf  essare: 

Ohime,  ch'io  moro,  ohime! 


THe  Poisoned  Lover  119 

"It  fell  dead  in  the  roadway; 

O  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

It  fell  dead  in  the  roadway ; 

O  woe  is  me!  0  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"Oh,  she  has  given  you  poison. 
Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble ! 
Oh,  she  has  given  you  poison!" 

"  Now  call  to  me  the  doctor; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

Now  call  to  me  the  doctor; 

O  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"Why  do  you  want  the  doctor, 
Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 
Why  do  you  want  the  doctor?  " 

"That  he  may  see  what  ails  me; 
0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 
That  he  may  see  what  ails  me ; 
0  woe  is  me !  O  woe  is  me !  I  die ! 

"Now  call  to  me  the  curate; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I! 

Now  call  to  me  the  curate ; 

O  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"Why  do  you  want  the  curate. 

Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble?  '  i 

Why  do  you  want  the  curate?" 

"Th'at  I  may  make  confession; 
O  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 
That  I  may  make  confession ; 
O  woe  is  me !  O  woe  is  me !  I  die ! 


120  FolK-Dallads  of  SoxatHern  E-virope 

— Mande  a  ciama  '1  notaro : 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
Mande  a  ciama  '1  notaro: 

Ohime,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— Perche  vori  ciam^  '1  notaro, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Perche  vori  ciama  '1  notaro? 
— Per  fare  testamento : 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
Per  fare  testamento: 

Ohime,  ch'io  moro,  ohime! — 
— Cossa  lass^  alia  vostra  mama, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Cossa  lasse  alia  vostra  mama? 
— Ghe  lasso  '1  mio  palazzo: 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
Ghe  lasso  '1  mio  palazzo: 

Ohim^,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— Cossa  lass^  alii  vostri  fratelli, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Cossa  lasse  alii  vostri  fratelli? 
— La  carrozza  coi  cavalli: 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
La  carrozza  coi  cavalli: 

Ohimd,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— Cossa  lasse  alle  vostre  sorelle, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Cossa  lasse  alle  vostre  sorelle  ? 


TKe  Poisoned  Lover  121 

"Now  call  to  me  a  lawyer; 

O  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

Now  call  to  me  a  lawyer ; 

O  woe  is  me!  0  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"  Why  do  you  want  a  lawyer, 
Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 
Why  do  you  want  a  lawyer?" 

" My  will  to  draw  and  witness; 

O  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

My  will  to  draw  and  witness ; 

0  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"What  will  you  leave  your  mother, 

Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 

What  will  you  leave  your  mother?" 

"I  leave  to  her  my  palace; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

1  leave  to  her  my  palace; 

O  woe  is  me!  0  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"What  will  you  leave  your  brothers, 

Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 

What  will  you  leave  your  brothers?" 

"My  carriage  and  my  horses; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

My  carriage  and  my  horses; 

O  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"What  will  you  leave  your  sisters, 
Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 
What  will  you  leave  your  sisters?" 


122  FolK-Dallacls  of  SoxitKern  E,\xrope 

— La  dote  per  maritarle: 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
La  dote  per  maritarle: 

Ohime,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— Cossa  lasse  alii  vostri  servi, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Cossa  lass^  alii  vostri  servi? 
— La  strada  d'and^  a  messa: 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal ! 
La  strada  d  'anda  a  messa : 

Ohim^,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— Cossa  lassd  per  la  vostra  tomba, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Cossa  lassd  per  la  vostra  tomba? 
— Cento  cinquanta  messe : 
Signora  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal ! 
Cento  cinquanta  messe : 

Ohim^,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 
— Cossa  lass6  alia  vostra  dama, 
Figliuol  mio  caro,  fiorito  e  gentil? 
Cossa  lassd  alia  vostra  dama? 
— La  f orca  da  impiccarla : 

Signdra  mama,  mio  core  sta  mal! 
La  f orca  da  impiccarla : 

Ohim^,  ch'io  moro,  ohim^! — 

D'Ancona,  Alessandro:    La  Poesia  Popolare  Italiana  (Liv- 
orno,  1878),  pp.  108-111. 


TKe  Poisoned  Lover  123 

"A  dowry  for  their  marriage; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

A  dowry  for  their  marriage ; 

O  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 


"What  will  you  leave  your  servants, 

Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 

What  will  you  leave  your  servants?" 

"The  road  to  go  to  mass  on; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  1 1 

The  road  to  go  to  mass  on ; 

O  woe  is  me!  0  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"What  will  you  leave  for  your  funeral, 

Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 

What  will  you  leave  for  your  funeral?" 

"A  hundred  and  fifty  masses; 

0  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

A  hundred  and  fifty  masses ; 

O  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 

"What  will  you  leave  your  sweetheart, 

Dear  son  so  fair  and  noble? 

What  will  you  leave  your  sweetheart?" 

"The  gallows-tree  to  hang  her; 

O  Lady  Mother,  sick  at  heart  am  I ! 

The  gallows-tree  to  hang  her ;  ^  ^ 

O  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me!  I  die!" 


124  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  E-virope 

LA  FILLE  DE  SAINT-MARTIN  DE  L'  ILE 


C'-etait  un'  jeune  fille 
De  Saint-Martin  de  1'  He, 
Son  p^r'l'a  marie'  richement, 
Mais  point  a  son  contentement. 


I  (bis) 


Elle  avait  un'  bell'-m^re, 

Un'  mechante  bell '-mere, 

Qui  toujours  disait  a  son  fi' :  \  fh'  ^ 

"Mon  fi',  quand  la  f  ras-tu  mouri'?"  ) 

"Patientez,  6  ma  m^re, 

O  ma  tres  chere  mere ; 

Patientez  k  dimanch'  matin,  I  /'a-  ^ 

J'  accomplirai  tous  vos  desseins. "  j 


La  belle  tout  en  larmes 
Alia  trouver  son  p^re, 
Lui  dir'  ses  craint'  et  ses  peri 's 
Et  qu'  on  voulait  la  fair'  mouri 

"Ah!  mon  p^re,  ah!  mon  p6re, 
Ah!  mon  tr^s  ch^r  p^re, 
Vous  m'  avez  donne  un  mari, 
Je  crois  qu'  il  me  fera  mouri'." 


,   I  (bis) 


(bis) 


"  Retourne-t-en,  ma  fille, 

Chez  toi,  ma  bonne  fille, 

Avant  dimanche,  avant  lundi, )  /,  .  ^ 

J  irai  parler  a  ton  man.  ) 

La  belle  s'  en  retoume, 

S'  en  retourne  chez  elle; 

Elle  se  couch'  dessus  son  lit,  )  /r  •  -. 

Ne  tarde  pas  a  s'  endormi'.    f 


Maiden  of  Saint-Martin-de-rile     125 

THE   MAIDEN   OF    SAINT-MARTIN-DE-L'ILE 

{French) 

Of  a  maiden  they  are  telling, 

At  Saint- Martin  she  was  dwelling; 

To  a  rich-man  she  was  wed, 

And  the  young  bride  lived  in  dread. 

Her  mother-in-law  was  wicked, 

Oh,  she  was  very  wicked ! 

She  said  every  day  of  her  wicked  life: 

"My  son,  when  will  you  kill  your  wife?" 

"Be  patient,  O  my  mother! 

Be  patient,  my  dear  mother! 

Till  Sunday  come  again,  be  still, 

And  Sunday  you  shall  have  your  will." 

The  fair  bride  goes  a-weeping 
To  her  father  for  safe-keeping; 
She  tells  him  how  in  dread  and  fright 
She  lives  in  peril  day  and  night. 

"O  father!  O  my  father! 

My  dearest,  dearest  father, 

You  have  made  me  a  cruel  rich-man's  wife, 

And  I  know  that  he  will  take  my  life. " 

"Go  back  now,  my  good  daughter, 
Go  home,  my  little  daughter; 
On  Sunday  or  Monday  of  the  week, 
To  your  husband  I  will  surely  speak. " 

And  so  the  sorrowful  little  bride 
Goes  home  to  her  own  fireside; 
On  her  bed,  too  tired  to  weep, 
She  lies,  and  quickly  falls  asleep. 


126  FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKern  Hvirope 

A  r  instant  dans  la  chambre 

C  est  son  mari  qui  entre: 

"Belle,  prenez  vos  jupons  blancs,  \  fh'  \ 

Nous  allons  faire  un  tour  aux  champs. "  ) 

Sans  attend'  la  r6ponse 

Sur  son  ch'val  il  la  monte; 

"Hola!  ma  bell',  tenez-vous  bon,  }  (i-  \ 

Nous  allons  jouer  de  1'  eperon."    \ 


Tout  aussitot  galope. 
Sans  debrider  I'emporte, 
Jusqu'  a  la  piece  de  froment 
Ou  son  epee  etait  dedans. 


(bis) 


"  Man,  si  tu  m'  y  frappes, 
Va-t-en  chercher  un  pret'e, 
Que  je  lui  fass'  confession, 
Pour  en  avoir  absolution." 


(bis) 


"Tu  n'  auras  d'  autre  pret'e 

Que  r  bout  de  mon  ^p^e. 

II  te  donn'ra  ta  confession  I  fh'  "\ 

Et  mon  poignard  1'  absolution."  ) 

Revenant  par  derri^re, 

Rencontre  son  beau-frdre: 

"Ah!  d'  oil  viens-tu,  fr^re,  maintenant  ? 

Tes  souliers  sont  couverts  de  sang." 

"Je  reviens  de  la  chasse 

Des  lapins,  des  becasses ; 

J'  tant  tue  de  lapins  blancs 

Qu'  mes  souliers  sont  couverts  de  sang. " 


(bis) 


(bis) 


Maiden  of  Saint-Martin-de-rile     127 

Suddenly  her  husband  stands 

At  her  bedside  and  commands : 

"Fair  bride,  put  on  your  skirts  of  white; 

We  two  ride  through  the  fields  to-night. " 

He  does  not  wait  for  a  reply, 
To  mount  her  on  his  saddle  high: 
"Fair  bride,  hold  fast,"  he  cries  to  her: 
"Hold  hard,  for  I  shall  use  the  spur." 

Thus  he  gallops  at  full  speed. 
Nor  draws  the  rein  upon  his  steed 
Till  they  have  come  to  a  wheat  field 
Where  his  bright  sword  lies  concealed. 

"If  you  will  murder  me,  at  least 
Go  and  find  for  me  a  priest ; 
That  I  may  confess,  and  he 
May  absolve  and  pardon  me." 

"Not  a  priest  can  I  afford, 

But  the  bright  point  of  my  sword; 

Your  confession  it  will  take. 

And  my  dagger  short  shrift  make. " 

Home  again  as  he  will  ride. 
He  meets  the  brother  of  his  bride: 
"Where  have  you  been?"  her  brother  said; 
"Your  shoes  are  covered  all  with  red." 

"I  am  riding  from  the  chase, 

Where  I  killed  woodcock,  many  a  brace; 

So  many  white  hares  I  left  dead. 

My  shoes  with  blood  are  covered  red." 


128  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  E-virope 


,'](bis) 


"Tu  as  menti,  beau-fr^re, 
Ah!  tu  n'es  qu'un  faux  traitre, 
Je  vols  a  tes  pales  couleurs 
Que  tu  viens  de  tuer  ma  soeur 

Va  pr^v'nir  la  justice, 
La  prev'nire  du  crime: 
"Justice,  faites-le  mouri',    )  /»•  s 
Et  sa  cruelle  m^re  aussi. "  j 

BujEAUD,   J.:    Chants  et  Chansons  des   Provinces   de   I'Ouest 
(Niort,  1866),  vol.  ii.,  pp.  226-229. 


LE   MEURTRE   DE   LA   MIE 

"Donnez-moi  ma  chemise  blanche, 
A  la  messe  je  veux  aller. " 

"Tu  veux  pas  aller  a  la  messe, 
Tu  veux  aller  voir  ta  maitresse." 

"Qu'  avez-vous  done,  cruelle  m^re? 
Car  toujours  vous  m'  en  parlez." 

"  Je  voudrais  que  le  coeur  de  ta  mie, 
Je  voudrais  qu'  il  soit  crucifie. " 

"Que  me  donnerez-vous,  m^re, 
Pour  aller  vous  le  chercher  ?" 

"Cent  ^cus  dans  ma  boursette, 
Cent  ^cus  je  te  donnerai. " 

"Cent  ^cus  n'  est  pas  grand  chose 
Pour  tuer  ce  que  1'  on  aimait. " 


XHe  Murder  of  tKe  S^weetheart     129 

"Brother-in-law,  you  lie,"  he  cried; 
"It  is  not  white  hares  that  have  died; 
By  your  pale  cheeks,  I  see  too  plain 
It  is  my  sister  you  have  slain. " 

He  has  gone  to  tell  the  court: 
"Justice,  let  his  days  be  short; 
Hang  him  on  the  gallows  grim, 
Hang  his  mother  after  him, " 


THE   MURDER   OF   THE   SWEETHEART 

{French) 

"  Give  me  my  white  shirt.  Mother,  pray, 
I  will  go  to  mass  to-day." 

"You  are  not  going  to  mass,  I  trow, 
To  visit  your  sweetheart,  son,  you  go." 

"Mother,  you  speak  so  cruelly! 
What  is  it  that  you  want  with  me?" 

"I  want  the  heart  of  your  promised  bride, 
And  I  wish  that  it  were  crucified. " 

"  Mother,  how  much  money  will  you  pay 
To  me,  if  I  bring  it  to  you,  say?" 

"A  hundred  ecus  I  will  give; 

They  are  in  my  purse  there,  as  I  live. " 

"A  hundred  dcus  is  pay  but  small 
For  killing  what  one  loves  best  of  all. " 


130  FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  Hxirope 

"Tiens,  va-t-en  done  vers  ta  mie, 
Pour  son  coeur  me  1'  amener. " 

Mais  le  galant  n'  a  pris  son  ^p^e, 
Chez  sa  mie  s '  en  est  all6. 

S'  en  va  frapper  a  la  porte, 
A  la  porte  de  sa  mi': 

"Qui  est-ce  qui  frappe  k  ma  porte, 
Qui  ra'  empeche  de  dormi?" 

"C  est  mon  tendre  coeur,  la  belle, 
Qui  desire  de  te  voir." 

II  r  a  prise  par  sa  main  blanche : 
"Allons,  mie,  nous  promener. " 

Mais  quand  ils  furent  dessous  une  ombre: 
"Allons,  mie,  il  faut  mourir!" 

"N'  aurais-tu  done  le  courage 
De  me  faire  mourir  ici?" 

"O  courage  que  courage! 
Allons,  mie,  te  faut  mourir!" 

Mais  le  galant  n'  en  tire  son  6p6e, 
Dans  son  coeur  il  1'  a  plong6. 

"O  tenez,  ma  cruelle  m^re, 
Ce  que  tant  vous  desirez!" 


TKe  Murder  of  tKe  S"weetKeart     131 

"Enough,  now  go  and  see  your  dear, 

And  bring  me  her  heart  when  you  come  back  here. " 

He  has  slung  his  sharp  sword  at  his  side, 
And  gone  to  visit  his  promised  bride. 

He  knocks  at  the  door  with  a  noisy  din, 
That  his  sweetheart  may  let  him  in. 

"Who  is  it  knocking  at  my  door, 
So  loud  that  I  can  sleep  no  more?" 

"Your  tender-hearted  love  is  here 
To  visit  you,  my  pretty  dear. " 

He  takes  her  hand  so  white  and  slim. 
And  leads  her  out  to  walk  with  him. 

When  they  're  under  the  trees  so  thick  and  high: 
"Come  now,  my  dear,  for  you  must  die!" 

"O  my  lover,  have  you  no  fear? 
Have  you  the  heart  to  kill  me  here?" 

"Afraid?  Now  who  's  afraid?  Not  I! 
Come,  my  dear,  for  you  must  die!" 

The  youth  has  drawn  the  sword  at  his  side, 
And  stabbed  the  heart  of  his  promised  bride. 


"Here,  take  it!    O  my  cruel  mother! 

'T  is  the  thing  you  wanted,  and  no  other." 


132  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  E.\irope 

"C  est  pas  le  coeur  de  ta  mie, 
Non,  c'  est  le  coeur  d'  un  animau. " 

"C  est  bien  le  coeur  de  ma  mie, 
C  est  pas  le  coeur  d'  un  animau. 

"Tout  garcon  qui  tue  sa  mie 
Ne  doit  pas  rester  au  pays. 

"Donnez-moi  ma  chemise  blanche 
Et  aussi  mon  manteau  gris. 

"  Je  m'  en  vais  k  la  guerre, 
Ou  dans  1'  Strange  pays." 

N'  en  fut  pas  rentre-z-^  la  porte, 
Les  gens  d'  armes  n'  ont  entr^. 

Si  r  ont  pris,  ils  1'  ont  mene, 
A  la  potence  ils  1'  ont  mont^. 

Smith, Victor:  Chants  Populaires  du  Velayetdu  Forez,  Romania 
(Paris,  i88i),  vol.  x.,  pp.  196-197. 

BELL'  JEANNETON. 

"Veux-tu  venir,  bell'  Jeanneton, 

Le  long  de  la  mer  coulante. 

Nous  promener  tout  au  long? 

Y  a  du  plaisir.     Nous  en  prendrons." 

Quand  ils  fur'  sur  le  bord  de  1'  eau, 
La  belle  lui  demande  a  boire ; 
"Avant  de  boir'  de  ce  vin  blanc, 
Beir,  je  veux  boire  de  ton  sang." 

"Mon  cher  amant,  mon  bien-aim6, 
En  aurais-tu  bien  le  courage?" 
"Allons  ho!  belle  Jeanneton, 
Quitte  vite  tes  blanc  jupons." 


Fair  Jeanneton  133 

'"T  is  not  the  heart  of  your  love  at  all, 
No,  it  's  the  heart  of  some  animal." 

"It  is  surely  her  heart  and  no  other, 

'T  is  not  the  heart  of  a  beast,  my  mother. 

"A  youth  who  has  murdered  his  sweetheart, 
From  his  own  country  must  depart. 

"Give  me  my  white  shirt,  Mother,  pray, 
And  give  me  also  my  mantle  gray, 

"For  to  the  war,  now,  I  will  go; 
Or  to  some  country  I  do  not  know. " 

He  has  not  walked  across  the  floor, 
When  the  soldiers  enter  at  the  door. 

They  take  him  and  lead  him  out  to  die; 
Upon  the  scaffold  they  lift  him  high. 

FAIR  JEANNETON 

(French) 

"Will  you  come  with  me,  fair  Jeanneton, 

To  walk  in  the  pleasant  weather? 
We  will  go  along  the  water's  edge, 

And  sport  and  play  together. " 

When  they  came  to  the  water's  edge, 

She  was  athirst,  she  said  : 
"Rather  than  drink  of  this  white  wine, 

I  will  drink  your  blood  so  red. " 

"O  my  dear  love,  my  own  true  love! 

How  dare  you  treat  me  so?" 
"Oh,  come,  fair  Jeanneton,  lay  off 

Your  skirts  as  white  as  snow. " 


134  FolK-Dallads  of  SoxitHem  E^virope 

"  Mon  cher  amant,  mon  bien-aim6, 
Tire  mes  bas,  dis,  je  t'  en  prie?" 
Tant  qu'  il  tirait  les  bas  du  pied, 
Dedans  la  mer  1'  a  fait  plonger. 

Le  beau  galant  subtilement 
S'  est  attrape  a-z-une  branche; 
La  Jeanneton  prend  son  couteau, 
Coupe  la  branch',  1'  envoie-t-a  1'  eau. 

"Oh!  tire-moi,  ma  ch^re  belle, 
Que  je  retourne  chez  mon  p  re. " 
"Ah!  non!  oh!  non!  maudit  galant, 
Puisque  tu  z-y  es,  reste-z-y  done." 

"Ma  chdre  ami',  ma  bien-aimde, 
Donne-moi  la  main,  je  t'  en  prie." 
"Oh!  non!  oh!  non!  maudit  galant, 
Faut  aller  voir  la  mer  au  fond. " 

"Rossignolet  du  bois  joli, 

Va-t-en  dire  a  ma  ch^re  mdre, 

Va-t-en  lui  dir'  que  je  suis  mort, 

Et  qu'  Jeanneton  n'  a  pas  tout  1'  tort. " 

BujEAUD,  J. :  Chants  et  Chansons  des  Provinces  de  I'  Quest  (Niort, 
i866),  vol.  ii.,  pp.  232-233. 


UN*  EROINA 

El  fiol  dij  signuri  cunti 
s'a  I'e  chiel  n'in  va  ciam6, 

Va  ciame  d'una  Munfreina, 
la  fia  d'iin  cavaj^. 


A.  Heroine  135 

"0  my  dear  love,  my  own  true  love! 

Pull  off  my  shoe  for  me. " 
But  while  he  pulled  it  from  her  foot, 

She  threw  him  in  the  sea. 

The  youth  has  caught  a  branch  of  tree, 

He  holds  with  might  and  main ; 
But  Jeanneton  with  her  penknife 

Has  cut  the  branch  in  twain. 

"Oh,  save  me!  save  me!  my  true  love! 

I  drift  av/ay  so  far!" 
"Oh,  no;  oh,  no,  you  cruel  youth! 

You  may  stay  where  you  are. " 

"0  my  dear  love,  my  own  true  love, 

Reach  out  your  hand  to  me!" 
"Oh,  no;  oh,  no,  you  cruel  youth! 

You  must  sink  to  the  depths  of  the  sea!" 

"O  nightingale  in  the  greenwood. 

Fly  to  my  mother's  door; 
Tell  her  my  love  is  not  to  blame 

That  I  come  home  no  more. " 


A   HEROINE 
(Piedmoniese) 

It  is  the  son  of  my  Lord  Count, 
He  goes  a- wooing  far  from  here; 

He  goes  to  woo  a  Monferrine, 
The  daughter  of  a  cavalier. 


136  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  Elurope 

S'a  r^  '1  saba  la  va  'mpromet-la, 

di  dumegna  la  va  spuz^. 
L'^  meina  sinquanta  mia 

sensa  mai  parl^-je  ansem. 
Prima  vota  ch'a  j'a  parla-je, 

s'a  j'a  ben  cozi  parl^: 
"Guarde  1^,  bela  Munfreina, 

cul  castel  tan  ben  miir^. 
Mi  sinquanta  e  due  Munfreine 

mi  la  drin  j'6  gia  meina;       t 
Le  sinquanta  e  due  Munfreine 

mi  la  testa  e  j'6  cup^. 


N'autertant  farai,  Munfreina, 

quand  che  vui  n'a  sari  la." 
"O  scuti,  lo  signur  cunte, 

preste-me  la  vostra  sp^." 
"O  dizi,  bela  Munfreina, 

coza  mai  na  voli  f^?" 
"Voi  taje  na  frascolina 

per  it  umbra  al  me  caval. " 


Quand  la  bela  1'^  'biu  la  speja, 

ant  el  cor  a  i  I'a  pianta. 
"O  va  la,  lo  signur  cunte, 

o  va  la  'nt  i  cui  fossa!" 
L'a  vira  al  caval  la  brila, 

andare  I'e  riturn^. 
El  primier  ch'a  na  riscuntra, 

so  fradel  n'a  riscuntra. 


A.  Heroine  137 

On  Saturday  they  are  betrothed, 
On  Sunday  morn  he  goes  to  wed ; 

He  has  carried  her  for  fifty  miles, 
And  not  a  word  between  them  said. 

But  he  speaks  to  her  at  the  last, 

After  she  has  waited  long : 
"Yonder  look,  fair  Monferrine, 

To  that  castle  walled  so  strong. 

"  Two-and-fifty  Monferrines 

There  already  I  have  led ; 
Two-and-fifty  Monferrines, 

And  I  struck  off  every  head. 

"I  will  do  the  like  to  yours 

When  we  're  there,  I  give  my  word. " 
"Listen,  listen,  Signor  Count, 

Will  you  lend  to  me  your  sword?" 

"  What  will  you  do  with  my  sword, 
When  you  have  it,  Monferrine?" 

"  To  shade  my  horse  from  the  hot  sun, 
I  will  cut  a  branch  of  green. " 

When  she  has  the  sword  in  hand, 

In  his  heart  she  plants  it  deep; 
"Oh,  lie  there,  my  Signor  Count; 

In  that  low  ditch  you  shall  sleep!" 

She  has  turned  her  bridle-rein ; 

She  rides  swiftly  from  the  place. 
Meets  with  no  one  till  she  meets 

Her  own  brother,  face  to  face. 


138  FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKern  E,virope 

"O  di  'n  po',  bela  Munfreina, 

r^  d'asse  che  't  trove  si!" 
"J'6  trova  i  sassin  di  strada, 

I'an  massa-me  '1  me  mari." 
"O  di  'n  po',  bela  Munfreina, 

t'  I'avrei  nen  massa-lo  ti?" 
"O  si,  si,  me  fradelino, 

la  vrita  ch'a  fa  bel  di ; 
A  sun  pa  i  sassin  di  strada 

r^n  massa-me  me  mari." 
"O  di  'n  po',  bela  Munfreina, 

a  ca  tua  venta  turn^." 
"0  no,  no,  me  fradelino, 

a  ca  mia  voi  pa  pi  and^. 
Mi  na  voi  ande  a  Ruma, 

'nde  dal  papa  a  cunfesse. " 

Nigra,  C:   Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,  1888),  No. 
13  A,  p.  90. 


ROMANCE   DE    RICO   FRANCO 

A  caza  iban,  a  caza 
Los  cazadores  del  rey, 
Ni  fallaban  ellos  caza, 
Ni  fallaban  que  traer. 
Perdido  habian  los  halcones, 
Mai  los  amenaza  el  rey ! 
Arrimaranse  a  un  castillo 
Que  se  llamaba  Maynes. 
Dentro  estaba  una  doncella 
Muy  f ermosa  y  muy  cortes ; 
Siete  condes  la  demandan, 
Y  asi  facian  tres  reyes. 


The  Ballad  of  Rico  Franco  139 

"Tell  me  now,  fair  Monferrine, 

Why  you  ride  alone?"  he  said; 
"Oh,  I  met  with  highwaymen, 

My  bridegroom  they  murder M." 

"Tell  me  now,  fair  Monferrine, 
Was  it  you  who  slew  your  lord?' 

"Yes,  my  brother,  truth  is  best, 
I  have  slain  him  with  his  sword. 

"I  have  slain  him  with  his  sword; 

No  highwaymen  have  I  seen." 
"You  must  go  home  to  your  house; 

Come  with  me,  fair  Monferrine. " 

"Oh,  no,  no!  my  brother  dear, 

I  can  never  more  go  home; 
I  go  to  confess  myself 

To  the  Holy  Pope  at  Rome. " 

THE   BALLAD   OF   RICO   FRANCO 
(Castilian) 

They  have  ridden  out  a-hunting, 

The  huntsmen  of  the  king; 
They  have  sought  for  game  the  whole  day  long, 

Nor  taken  anything ; 
They  have  lost  the  royal  falcons 

And  fear  to  face  the  king. 

They  ride  along  the  highroad 

Till  a  castle  comes  in  sight 
Where  lives  a  noble  maiden, 

So  beautiful  and  bright, 
That  three  kings  are  her  wooers, 

Three  kings,  and  many  a  knight. 


140  FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKem  E.\irope 

Robarala  Rico  Franco, 

Rico  Franco  aragones: 

Llorando  iba  la  doncella 

De  sus  ojos  tan  cortes. 

Falagala  Rico  Franco, 

Rico  Franco  aragones: 

"Si  lloras  tu  padre  6  madre, 

Nunca  mas  vos  los  vereis. 

Si  lloras  los  tus  hermanos, 

Yo  los  mate  todos  tres. " 

"Ni  lloro  padre  ni  madre, 

Ni  hermanos  todos  tres; 

Mas  lloro  la  mi  ventura 

Que  no  s^  cudl  ha  de  ser. 

Prest^desme,  Rico  Franco, 

Vuestro  cuchillo  lugues, 

Cortare  fitas  al  manto. 

Que  no  son  para  traer. " 

Rico  Franco  de  cortese 

For  la  cachas  lo  fue  tender ; 

La  doncella  que  era  artera 

For  los  pechos  se  lo  fu^  d  meter: 

Asi  vengo  padre  y  madre, 

Y  aun  hermanos  todos  tres. 

Wolf  y  Hofmann:  Primavera  (Berlin,  1856),  vol.  ii.,  pp.  22-23. 


THe    Ballad  of  Rico  Franco  141 

Now  Rico  Franco  steals  her, 

Rico  Franco  of  Aragon ; 
Though  the  tears  of  the  sweet  maiden 

From  her  pretty  lashes  run ; 
He  taunts  her,  Rico  Franco, 

Rico  Franco  of  Aragon. 


"What  use  to  mourn  thy  parents, 
Whom  thou  shalt  never  see? 

What  use  to  mourn  thy  brothers? 
I  have  slain  them,  all  the  three!" 

"I  weep  not  for  my  parents. 
Nor  for  my  brothers  three ; 

I  weep  for  mine  own  fortune. 
Who  knows  what  it  will  be? 


"Now  lend  me,  Rico  Franco, 
Your  knife  so  bright  and  bare, 

For  the  fringes  of  my  mantle 
They  are  not  fit  to  wear. " 

The  courtly  Rico  Franco 
Held  out  to  her  the  hilt; 

But  the  maiden  she  was  crafty 
And  swift  his  blood  was  spilt. 


In  his  breast  the  knife  she  buried 
That  she  revenged  might  be 

For  her  father  and  her  mother. 
And  her  brothers,  all  the  three. 


142   FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKern  E-virope 

LO   COMPTE   GARI 

Estava  agenollada — donzella  Beatris, 
mentres  oracid  feya — ne  v^  un  jove  gentil. 

Cull  un  pom  de  violas — pera  ferla  dormir, 
quan  la  t^  adormideta — en  gropa  la  puji. 

Caminaren  set  lleguas — que  may  se  desperti, 
al  cap  de  las  set  lleguas — la  dama  's  deixondi. 

— Prendumen  per  esposa — lo  bon  compte  Gari. 
— No  'us  vull  pas  per  esposa — d'esposa  ja  me'n  tinch 
mes  blanca,  mes  hermosa, — mes  bella,  mes  gentil. 
Vos  filareu  1  estopa, — ella  filara  '1  Hi — 

Treu  lo  cap  en  finestra — la  dama  y  fa  un  sonris. 
— De  que  ri^u  la  dama, — donzella  Beatris? 
— De  que  veig  veni'  '1  pare, — cavaliers  mes  de  mil, 
portan  una  bandera — que  hi  canta  un  estorlich 


Covint  Gari  143 

COUNT   GARI 

{Catalan) 

Lady  Beatris  is  kneeling, 

Kneeling  to  pray; 
And  while  the  lady  's  praying, 

A  fine  youth  comes  that  way. 

With  the  violets  he  's  holding, 

In  sleep  he  makes  her  droop ; 
And  when  she  's  sleeping  soundly 

He  lifts  her  to  his  croup. 

Seven  leagues  they  ride  together, 

Still  she  's  sleeping  sound ; 
When  for  seven  leagues  they  've  travelled, 

She  wakes  and  looks  around. 

"For  your  wedded  wife  now  take  me, 

My  good  Count  Gari." 
"For  my  wife  I  will  not  have  you; 

I  have  a  wife, "  said  he, 

"  More  beautiful,  more  charming, 

More  white,  more  nobly  bred; 
The  tow  you  will  be  weaving. 

And  she  the  linen  thread." 

With  her  head  at  the  window, 

She  looks  with  a  smile : 
What  is  the  lady  seeing, 

That  she  laughs  the  while? 

"I  see  my  father  coming 

With  knights  a  thousand  strong. 
They  bear  a  blazoned  banner; 

And  I  hear  its  starling's  song, 


144  FolK-Dallads  of  SovitKern  E.\irope 

que  diu  ab  son  llenguatge:  "Garl  n'  has  de  morir." 

— Cobreixme  ab  las  cortinas — dirds  que  no  m*  has 

vist. 
Ja  trucan  a  la  porta — responen:  "  Qui  hi  ha  assi? " 
— Hauriau  vist  al  compte — al  compte  Don  Gari? 

Los  diu  que  no  ab  la  llenga, — sos  uUs  diuhen  que  si. 

Aixecan  las  cortinas — y  matan  Don  Gari. 
Quan  fou  lo  cap  a  terra — aquestos  mots  va  dir: 
— Be  n'  estaras  contenta — donzella  Beatris, 
que  ne  tindras  la  testa — del  compte  Don  Gari. 
— Jo  no  la  vull  la  testa, — de  testa  ja  me  'n  tinch 
mes  blanca,  mes  hermosa, — mes  bella,  mes  gentil. 

Briz  y  Salt6:  Cansons  de  la  Terra  (Barcelona,  1867),  vol.  ii., 
PP-  47-52. 


VOCERO  DI  MARIA  FELICE  DI  CALACUCCIA 
IN  MORTE  DEL  FRATELLO 

Eju  filava  la  mio  rocca, 
Quandu  intesu  un  gran  rumore: 
Era  un  colpu  di  fucile 
Ch^  m'intruno  nu  lu  core, 


Lament  of  Maria  Felice  Di  Calacuccia  145 

"That  says  in  his  bird  language: 

'The  Count  Gari  must  die.'" 
"Cover  me  with  the  curtains; 

Don't  say  that  it  is  I!" 

At  the  door  they  are  a-knocking; 

She  says:  "Who  may  you  be?" 
"Now  tell  us  have  you  seen  the  count, 

The  count  Don  Gari?" 

It 's  "no"  her  tongue  is  saying; 

It 's  "yes"  that  her  eyes  say. 
They  draw  aside  the  curtains, 

And  Count  Gari  they  slay. 

When  his  head  was  on  the  pavement, 

It  spoke  and  said  this: 
"Oh,  now  you  will  be  happy, 

Donzella  Beatris, 

"For  you  can  have  the  head  now 

Of  the  count  Don  Gari." 
"His  head  I  am  not  wanting, 

I  have  a  head, "  said  she; 

"  His  head  I  am  not  wanting, 

I  have  a  better  head ; 
More  beautiful,  more  charming. 

More  white,  more  nobly  bred. " 

LAMENT  OF  MARIA  FELICE  DI  CALACUCCIA 
FOR  THE  DEATH  OF  HER  BROTHER 

(Corsican) 

I  was  spinning  with  my  spindle 
When  a  loud  noise  made  me  start; 
'T  was  the  firing  of  a  musket, 
In  my  breast  I  felt  the  smart; 


146  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  E.\irope 

Parse  ch'  unu  mi  dicissi 
Corri,  u  to  fratellu  more. 

Corsi  in  camera  suprana, 
E  spalancaju  la  porta. 
Ho  livatu  indu  lu  core, 
Disse,  e  eju  cascaju  morta. 
S'allora  nun  morsu  anch'  eju 
Una  cosa  mi  cunforta. 

Bogliu  veste  li  calzoni, 
Bogliu  cumpra  la  terzetta, 
Per  mustra  la  to  camiscia 
Tantu  nimmu  nun  aspetta 
A  tagliassi  la  so  varba 
Dopu  fatta  la  bindetta. 

A  fane  la  to  bindetta 
Quale  voli  che  ci  sia? 
Mammata  vicinu  a  more? 
O  a  to  surella  Maria? 
Oh!  si  Lariu  unn  'era  mortu, 
Senza  strage  nun  finia. 

D'una  razza  cosi  grande 
Lasci  solu  una  surella, 
Senza  cugini  carnali 
Povera,  of  ana  e  zitella. 
Ma  per  fa  la  to  bindetta, 
Sta  siguru,  basta  anch'ella. 

Marcaggi,  J.  B.:  Les   Chants  de  la   Mart  et  de  la  Vendetta 
(Paris,  1898),  pp.  176-179. 


Lament  of  Maria  Felice  Di  Calacviccia  147 

And  it  seemed  a  voice  said:  "Hurry! 
They  have  struck  your  brother's  heart. " 


I  ran  to  the  upper  chamber, 

Very  wide  I  threw  the  door; 

He  said:  "They  have  killed  me,  sister!" 

I  fell  senseless  on  the  floor. 

If  one  thought  did  not  sustain  me, 

I  'd  not  live  an  hour  more. 


I  will  dress  in  coat  and  trousers; 
I  will  buy  myself  a  gun; 
I  will  show  thy  shirt  all  bloody. 
For  no  man  remains,  not  one. 
Who  will  leave  his  beard  unshaven 
Until  he  sees  vengeance  done. 


Who  is  there  to  make  vendetta? 
Mother,  dying  on  her  bed? 
Sister  Maria?  Brother  Lario? 
Oh,  that  Lario  were  not  dead! 
For  if  Lario  were  living, 
Blood  enough  would  soon  be  shed! 


Now  of  all  our  many  kindred, 
None  is  left  to  fight  for  me ; 
Thy  poor  sister,  maiden,  orphaned, 
Swears  her  lonely  vow  to  thee: 
Be  thou  sure,  for  thy  vendetta 
She  is  ready,  even  she! 


148  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  £^\jirope 

LA   MARQUISE 


Quand  le  roi  entra  dans  la  cour, 

Pour  saluer  les  dames, 
La  plus  belle,  par  son  amour, 

EUe  a  ravi  son  ame. 

Le  roi  demande  k  ces  messieurs : 

"A  qui  est  cette  dame?" 
Le  beau  marquis  a  repondu: 

"Cette-la,  c'est  ma  femme." 

"  Marquis  est  plus  heureux  qu'un  roi, 

D'avoir  si  belle  dame. 
Car,  je  le  jure  sur  ma  foi, 

Je  la  prends  pour  ma  femme. " 

Le  beau  marquis  a  dit  au  roi : 

"Vous  faites  injustice. 
Ma  femme  m'a  promis  sa  foi; 

Je  quitte  le  service." 

Le  roi  I'a  prise  par  la  main, 
L  'a  men^e  en  sa  chambre ; 

La  belle,  en  montant  les  degr^s, 
Pleurait  toutes  ses  larmes. 

"Marquise,  ne  pleiirez  pas  tant; 

Quand  vous  serez  princesse, 
De  mon  or  et  de  mon  argent 

Vous  serez  la  maitresse." 


XKe  Marqviise  149 

THE   MARQUISE 

(French) 

When  the  king  comes  into  the  court 

To  greet  the  ladies  there, 
One  has  stolen  away  his  heart, 

The  one  who  is  most  fair. 

"Whose  wife  is  she,  my  gentlemen?" 

A  marquis  proud  replied: 
"That  fairest  lady  of  them  all 

Is  my  wedded  bride. " 

"  Marquis  is  happier  than  king 

With  a  lady  so  divine ; 
But  I  swear  to  you  upon  my  faith 

I  must  have  your  wife  for  mine. " 

The  good  marquis  has  answer  made : 

"King's  justice  is  but  short; 
My  wife  has  promised  faith  to  me. 

Sire,  I  leave  the  court." 

The  king  has  taken  her  by  the  hand 

In  court  before  them  all ; 
But  as  he  leads  her  up  the  stair. 

Her  tears  like  thick  rain  fall. 

"Weep  not  so  bitterly,"  he  said; 

"My  noble  Marchioness; 
Of  all  my  silver  and  my  gold 

You  shall  be  mistress. " 


I50  FolK-Ballads  of  So\itHern  Elurope 

L'a  reine  lui  donne  un  bouquet 

Fait  de  fleurs  tant  jolies ; 
Mais  en  flairant  ce  beau  bouquet, 

Elle  a  perdu  la  vie. 

Le  roi  lui  fit  faire  un  tombeau 

En  terre  de  Baise, 
Et  il  a  fait  tracer  en  haut 

Le  nom  de  la  marquise. 

Les  gens  ont  dit  au  beau  marquis: 

"  Priez  pour  votre  dame. " 
"Dieu  lui  ferme  son  paradis; 

Je  n'ai  ni  roi  ni  femme. " 

Blad6,  J.-F.:  Poesies  Populaires  en  Langue  Frangaise  (Paris, 
1879),  pp.  25-26. 


THe  Marqviise  151 

The  queen  gives  her  a  fair  nosegay- 
Sweet  with  the  rose's  breath ; 

The  odor  of  that  fair  nosegay- 
Brings  her  to  her  death. 

The  king  has  built  for  her  a  tomb 

In  the  province  of  Baise; 
Above  is  cut  into  the  stone 

The  name  of  the  marquise. 

The  folk  have  bid  the  good  marquis: 
"Now  pray  for  your  dead  bride. '" 

"God  shuts  her  out  of  Paradise; 
I  've  nor  king  nor  wife, "  he  cried. 


Ballads  of  Prisoners 


153 


BUJOR 


Frun^a  verde  de  negarS; 
A  e^it  Bujor  in  ^era! 
Bate,  prada,  nu  omor^ 
Pe  ciocoi  ii  baga  'n  fiare, 
Se-i  dea  bani  de  cheltuialS 
§i  haine  de  priminela. 
Bujor  ese,  Bujor  ^ice: 
"Halal  de  tine,  voinice! 
Haide^i  copii  dupa  mine 
Ca  stiu  calea  'n  codru  bine, 
§i  stiu  turme  de  berbeci, 
Isv6re  cu  ape  reci, 
§i  neveste  frumu§ele 
§i  desagi  cu  rubiele!" 

Ici  in  vale,  cole  'n  vale 
Suna-un  glas  duios  cu  jale, 
Glas  frumos  de  fata  mare, 
Bujor  prinde-o  s^rutare! 

Ici  in  vale,  piriu 
DoS,  fete  spala  griu, 
Bujor  le  ^ine  de  briu! 


154 


BUJOR 

(Roumanian) 

Green  leaf  of  the  meadow-grass ! 
Bujor  throughout  the  land  doth  pass! 
He  beats,  he  robs,  he  does  not  kill. 
The  tyrant  nobles  at  his  will 
With  their  gold  must  pay  his  way, 
And  give  him  clothes  for  every  day. 

Bujor  comes  and  cries  aloud: 
"Good  luck  to  thee,  my  soldier  proud! 
Follow,  children,  after  me; 
I  know  where  the  wood-paths  be; 
I  know  where  are  flocks  of  sheep, 
Springs  of  water,  clear  and  deep. 
Where  fair  women  may  be  found, 
And  sacks  of  gold  upon  the  ground. " 

In  the  valley,  here  and  there, 
A  maiden's  sad  voice  fills  the  air; 
Like  a  mermaid  singeth  she, 
Bujor  robs  her  of  kisses  three. 

By  the  stream  down  in  the  plain, 
Maidens  two  arc  washing  grain ; 
'T  is  Bujor  halts  in  the  place, 
And  gives  to  each  girl  an  embrace. 
155 


156  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  flxirope 

Id  in  vale,  la  fontanS,, 
Do3,  fete  spala  lana, 
Bujor  le  stringe  de  man3,! 

Ici  in  valea  lui  Terinte, 
DoS,  fete  culeg  linte, 
Bujor  le  scote  din  minte! 


Frunc^S  verde  de  negarS; 
La  Foc^ani  intre  hotara, 
Este-un  bordeiu  cam  plecat 
De  copaci  incungiurat. 
Acolo-i  Bujor  culcat, 
La  Ani^a  veduvi^a, 
Ce  'Sf  da  vin  tot  cu  vSdri^a 
§i'l  imbatS  cu  guri^a: 
"Ani^ico,  draga  mea! 
Mult  mi-e  dor  de-o  floricea, 
Floricica  rumeorS 
Care-o  por^i  in  buzi^orS,. 
— Stef&nic^,  Bujora§! 
Floricica  da^i-o-a§. 
Na  §i  na  guri^a  mea 
De-o  sS,rutS,  cat  ii  vrea. 
Ear  de  beut,  nu  mat  bea 
C^  potira-i  cat  colea. 
— Las'  se  vie  cS,  nu'mi  pas^ 
Cand  mi-e  palo^ul  pe  mas^ 
§i  mindru^ja  drS,gS,st6sa. " 
SS.rutatul  n'aii  sfir§it, 
Potira  c'au  §1  sosit. 
Luptat-aii  Bujor,  luptat, 
De  potirS  n'a  scSpat! 


Bxjjor  157 

In  the  valley  by  the  pool, 
Two  fair  maids  are  washing  wool ; 
While  each  maiden  washing  stands, 
Bujor  presses  her  white  hands. 

Down  the  stream  two  girls  have  strayed, 
Gathering  lentils  in  the  shade; 
Both  girls  Bujor  has  betrayed. 

Green  leaf  of  the  meadow-grass! 

On  the  frontier  lives  a  lass. 

In  a  tavern  scarcely  found 

For  the  forest  all  around; 

It  is  here  Bujor  is  hidden 

With  Anita  the  inn-maiden. 

Before  him  a  great  flask  she  places, 

She  makes  him  drunk  with  her  embraces. 

"0  Anita,  sweetheart  mine. 
For  a  small  red  flower  I  pine, 
Blossomed  on  that  mouth  of  thine!" 
"Stefanica,  Bujor  dear. 
Have  thy  little  flower  here; 

All  my  kisses,  they  are  thine, 

Take  them,  but  take  no  more  wine, 

Not  a  drop  more,  for  I  fear 

That  the  guards  are  hidden  near. " 

"Let  them  come,  I  'm  not  afraid. 

On  the  table  lies  my  blade, 

And  my  love  's  the  fairest  maid!" 

He  takes  one  kiss  and  no  more, 
For  the  guards  are  at  the  door! 
Fierce  he  fought  as  a  man  may, 
Bujor  could  not  escape  that  day. 


158  FolK-Dallads  of  Sovathern  E,\arope 

Prunes,  verde  de  negar^, 
Pe  Bujor  mi'l  due  pin  \6t^ 
De'l  arata  ca  pe-o  fera! 
§i  mi'l  pun  la  inchisore, 
Para  arme,  fS.ra  sore! 
Oliolio !  codru  frun^os 
Cat  esti  vara  de  frumos 
Earna  putre(^esei  tu  gios! 
Ca  tine  Bujor  In  gros 
Sta  culcat  cu  facia  'n  gios. 

Frun^a,  verde  de  negar^, 
Pe  Bujor  mi'l  giudecarS, 
La  Divan  il  intrebarS,, 
Mul^i  crestini  de-a  omorit 
Cdt  pin  l^era  a  ho^it? 
Ear  Bujor  cruce  '?i  facea 
§i  cu  dreptiil  respundea: 
"  Mort  de  om  eu  n'am  facut, 
Dar  ciocoi  mul^i  am  batut! 
— Stefane  Bujorule 
Unde-ti  sunt  averile 
Ca  se-ti  scapi  tu  <^ilele? 
— Le-am  ascuns  pe  la  copaci, 
De-agiutor  la  cei  sS,raci 
Se-§i  cumpere  boi  §i  vad!" 

Prun<^a  verde  de  negar^, 
Bujor  se  sue  pe-o  scarS,  .    .    . 
Plang  s&raci  cu  jale-amarS, 
C^  nu-i  scara  Domnilor 
§i  e  scara  ho^ilor, 
Calea  negra-a  mor-tilor! 
Alecsandri,  Vasile:  Poesit  Populare  ale  Romdnilor  (Bucuresci, 
1866),  pp.  156-158 


Bujor  159 

Green  leaf  of  the  meadow-grass! 
Bujor  throughout  the  land  must  pass 
Like  a  wild  beast  to  be  shown ! 
Till  within  a  cell  he  's  thrown, 
Without  arms  or  light,  alone! 

Forest  thick,  with  branching  shade, 
Thy  fair  leaves  shall  low  be  laid. 
Round  about  thy  feet  to  fade! 
Even  so  Bujor  is  found. 
With  his  face  upon  the  ground ! 

Green  leaf  of  the  meadow-grass! 
For  his  trial  now,  alas! 
Bujor  to  the  court  must  pass. 

"Famous  bandit,  speak  and  say. 
Many  Christians  dost  thou  slay?" 
"Not  a  man  to  death  I  Ve  done; 
But  I  've  thrashed  tyrants  many  a  one!" 

"Stefanica,  Bujor  bold. 

Where  dost  thou  conceal  thy  gold? 

If  thou  would'st  escape  now,  tell!" 

"Under  trees  't  is  hidden  well; 

Poor  men  shall  find  that  gold  of  mine, 

And  with  it  buy  oxen  and  kine." 

Green  leaf  of  the  meadow-grass! 

Up  the  stair  Bujor  must  pass. 

Poor  men  for  him  wail  and  cry : 

'T  is  not  the  stairway  of  the  high, 

Not  the  stairway  to  great  place. 

But  the  ladder  of  disgrace. 

Where  bandits  and  where  thieves  are  led,- 

The  black  footpath  of  the  dead ! 


l6o  FolK-Dallads  of  SovitKem  E,urope 

I   FRA   DIAVOLI 

Amici,  rimitt^munni, 
Pensa  ch'  h  mala  vita, 
Di  sti  valenti  omini 
La  liberty  ^  finita. 

Pigghidmunni  Tesempiu 
Di  sti  gran  curaggiusi, 
Chiamati  Fra  Diduli, 
Picciotti  spiritusi. 

Chist 'omini  di  spiritu 
Lu  so  curaggiu  *un  vali ; 
C^  di  stu  tempu  vdlinu 
Li  babbi  e  li  minnali, 

Dintra  'na  scura  cammara 
Su'  misi  a  la  catina 
'Nt'  6  casteddu  tirribuli 
Di  Santa  Catarina. 

A  li  trenta  d'austu 
Dda  tinniru  un  complottu 
Si  misinu  d'accordiu, 
E  oniti  foru  ottu. 

E  tutti  ottu  pensinu 
Lu  modu  di  scappari, 
E  una  corda  ficinu 
Putirisi  jttari. 

Cu  ferramenti  levanu 
Li  grati  cchiu  maggiuri, 
Lu  Ninu  Fra  Diaulu 
Si  jttau  cu  fururi. 


TKe  DrotKers  Fra  Diavoli  l6i 

THE   BROTHERS   FRA   DIAVOLI 

(Sicilian) 

Listen  to  this  evil  tale! 

Friends,  let  us  awaken ! 
Hear  how  from  these  valiant  men 

Their  liberty  is  taken. 

Let  us  our  example  find 

When  our  courage  's  wanted, 
In  the  Fra  Diavoli, 

Brothers  three,  undaunted. 

In  these  times  were  all  for  naught 

Their  bravery  of  spirit. 
Now,  when  scamps  and  little  rogues 

Count  more  than  men  of  merit. 

In  a  dark  and  horrid  cell, 

Its  window  iron-grated, 
In  the  castle  of  Saint  Catherine, 

They  lie,  with  great  chains  weighted. 

It  was  August  thirtieth 

The  brothers  their  word  plighted 
With  five  other  prisoners. 

And  all  the  eight  united ; 

All  the  eight  with  all  their  wits 

Plotted  and  planned  together, 
Till,  at  last,  a  little  rope 

To  the  window-bar  they  tether. 

Then  with  irons  they  pried  up 

The  big  grate  from  its  socket, 
And  Ninu  Fra  Diavolo 

Went  out  like  a  rocket. 


I62  FolK-Ballads  of  SootKern  Exirope 

L'autri  setti  scinninu 
Scausi  senza  scarpi, 
A  praja  'i  rnari  arrivanu 
Facennu  longhi  tappi. 

Una  barcuzza  scoprinu 
A  tiru  di  scupetta; 
'Nnatuni  si  jttau 
Lu  gran  Ninu  Buzzetta. 

'N  terra  la  barca  porta 
Dda  intra  cc'era  tri  omini, 
Una  scupetta  avianu 
Spinsirati  durmianu. 

Tutti  ottu  si  'mbarcanu 
Vucannu  cu  riguri 
Pizzu  'i  Gallina  arrivanu 
*Ntra  termini  ddu'  tiri ; 

Tutti  ottu  sbarcaru. 
E  chiddi  li  ssrugghieru; 
Scarpi  e  cosetti  cercanu, 
E  ddoppu  si  jarmaru. 

Mentri  chi  camindvanu 
Ma  iddi  pi  ddi  strati 
'N  attirruri  facianu 
Pi  tutti  ddi  cuntrati. 

Di  Palermu  si  parti 
'N  gran  populu  d'aggenti, 
Surdati  'n  quantitati 
Cavallaria  e  surgenti. 

Lu  Ninu  Fra  Didulu 
Lu  primu  chi  sparau 
E  a  una  di  I'Agghiasoru 
Lu  pettu  cci  spunnau. 


THe  BrotHers  Fra  Diavoli  163 

Barefooted  then,  the  other  seven 

Down  the  rope  went  sliding, 
And  to  the  sands  of  the  seashore 

With  long  steps  went  striding. 

Just  a  musket-shot  away 

A  small  boat  they  discover, 
And  big  Ninu,  plunging  in, 

Swims  the  distance  over. 

He  drew  the  boat  up  to  the  land, 

Three  men  lay  there  sleeping; 
They  had  a  rifle  close  at  hand. 

But  no  watch  were  keeping. 

Then  and  there  the  eight  embarked, 

Alongshore  they  went  steering, 
So  swiftly,  that  in  two  hours'  time 

Gallina  they  were  nearing. 

All  the  eight  there  disembarked. 
And  through  the  country  scattered, 

Seeking  clothes,  and  shoes,  and  arms, 
Naked,  cold,  and  tattered. 

Up  and  down  the  streets  they  went. 

Such  a  tumult  making. 
That  the  people  all  about 

In  their  beds  were  shaking. 

From  Palermo  there  marched  out 

A  tremendous  force,  then: 
Foot-soldiers,  a  regiment, 

Police  guards  and  horsemen. 

Then  Ninu  Fra  Diavolo 

Fired  a  shot  that  tore  through 
All  the  crowd  and  struck  by  chance 

A  girl  of  Agghiasdru. 


1 64  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  Hvirope 

Pizzu  di  Corvu  e  Cifara, 
Purtedda  di  Gallina, 
Li  so*  prudigi  vitturu 
Di  sira  e  di  matina. 

Cci  dici  la  Giustizia 
A  li  valenti  frati: 
— 'Rrinnitivi,  'rrinnitivi, 
Si  no  siti  ammazzati ! 

Arrenni,  'Mbrociu,  arr^nniti, 
Ca  nun  ti  mulistamu ! — 
— L'omini  nun  s'arrenninu: 
La  vita  cci  lassamu! 
PiTRfe,  Giuseppe:  Canti  Popolari  Siciliani  (Palermo,  1870-1), 
vol.  ii.,  pp.  134-137- 

GLI   SCOLARI   DI  TOLOSA 

Sun  tre  giuvenin  de  scola, 

ch'  a  Tuluza  volo  and^. 
Quand  sun  stait  sul  punt  d 'Tuluza  ; 

d'lina  fia  I'^n  riscuntr^. 

L'^n  pi^-la,  I'^n  ambrass^-la, 

tiiti  tre  s'a  '1 1'^n  baz6. 
Giudise,  savii  sta  nova, 

tuti  tre  fa  bin  rest^. 
Ant  el  fund  d'la  tur  d 'Tuluza 

a  1'^  bin  fa-je  hiith. 
El  pi  giuvo  a  dis  a  j'dutri: 

— Quand  sortruma  nui  da  si? 
Mi  Vki  iin  fratel  an  Fransa, 

s'a  sav^issa  ch'mi  sun  si, 


TKe  Three  Stxidents  of  Toulovise    165 

Gallina,  Corvu,  Cifara, 

Without  a  word  of  warning, 
Were  filled  with  awful  deeds  of  blood, 

By  night,  and  noon,  and  morning; 

Till  the  very  Court  sent  out 

Its  terms  of  peace  to  tender: 
"Yield,  and  we  will  save  your  lives; 

Surrender  now,  surrender!" 

"Yield,  Ambrogio,  yield  at  last, 

You  shall  all  be  shielded. " 
"Not  till  death;  brave  men  like  us 

Never  yet  have  yielded!" 

THE  THREE  STUDENTS  OF  TOULOUSE 

{Piedmontese) 

There  were  three  gay  young  students 

Went  to  Toulouse  one  day; 
At  Toulouse  as  they  crossed  the  bridge, 

They  met  a  girl  midway. 

One  seized  her,  one  embraced  her, 

They  kissed  her  every  one ; 
The  Judge  sends  straight  to  take  them, 

When  he  hears  what  has  been  done. 

The  Judge  has  sent  to  take  them 

Within  that  very  hour; 
And  the  poor  lads  are  prisoned  fast 

In  the  depths  of  Toulouse  tower. 

Said  the  youngest  to  the  others : 

"When  will  they  set  us  free? 
In  France  I  have  a  brother 

If  he  knew  would  rescue  me. 


i66  FolK-Dallads  of  SovitHern  E>\irope 

Faria  d^  '1  fo  a  Tuluza, 

'1  giiidise  faria  miiri. — 
Una  veja  da  la  fnestra 

a  stazia  a  riscut^. 
A  r^  and^  dal  signur  giiidise, 

sti  desctirs  j'^  raport^. 


— 0  port^-me  si  na  piiima, 

una  piuma  e  un  foi  d'pap^, 

Che  voi  scrive  na  litrinha,         ^ 
a  mia  c^  la  voi  mandd. — 


So  fratel  pia  sta  letra, 

dessigila  e  poi  la  les ; 
Ant  el  mentre  la  legia, 

s'buta  a  pianze  e  suspir^. 
A  I'd  and^  ant  la  scuderia, 

a  caval  a  I'd  muntd; 
A  Tuluza  a  s'buta  a  curre, 

s'buta  a  curre  e  galopd. 
Quand  I'd  stdit  davzin  Tuluza, 

d'iin  bun  vei  I'a  riscuntrd. 
— Di-me  'n  poc,  o  vui,  brav'oimo, 

che  nove  che  m'^i  da  dd? 
— Le  nove  sun  vaire  bunhe, 

sun  nove  ch'a  fan  piurd; 
J'd  tre  giuvenin  de  scola, 

tuii  tre  devo  ampichd. 
— Di-me  'n  poc,  o  vui  brav'oimo, 

j'arivrai-ne  ancur  a  temp? 


TKe  TKree  Students  of  Toulovise  167 

"He  would  set  Toulouse  a-fire, 
He  would  have  the  Judge's  head." 

An  old  hag  at  the  window 
Listened  to  all  they  said. 

And  she  is  gone  to  my  lord  Judge, 

And  told  it  all  again. 
******* 

"Oh,  bring  to  me  some  paper, 

White  paper  and  a  pen, 
"I  will  write  a  letter  to  my  house," 

The  youngest  scholar  said. 
******* 

His  brother  took  the  letter, 
He  broke  the  seal  and  read ; 

And  as  he  read  the  letter. 

The  brother  wept  and  sighed ; 
Then  hurried  to  the  stables 

To  mount  his  horse  and  ride. 

To  Toulouse  he  goes  spurring, 

The  horse  it  ran  and  ran ; 
As  he  came  near  the  city, 

He  met  a  good  old  man : 

"O  good  man,  in  the  city. 

What  is  the  news  one  hears?" 
"The  news  is  very  evil, 

Would  move  your  eyes  to  tears. 

"They  have  taken  three  young  students, 
They  are  hanging  all  the  three." 

"Oh,  tell  me,  tell  me,  my  good  man, 
Am  I  in  time?"  cried  he. 


1 68  FolK-Dallads  of  SovitKern  Exirope 

— Alam^  'n  po  pi  la  brila, 

che  '1  caval  va  trop  a  lent. — 
A  Vk  dk-je  na  sprunada, 

ch'a  vulava  cum'  el  vent. 
Quand  1'^  stiit  sul  punt  d'Tuluza, 

j'ero  gi^  tiiit  tre  pendent. 
L'^  d^  man  a  la  spadinha, 

testa  al  giiidise  a  j'a  cup6. 
— Un  Tera  me  frel  pi  giuvo, 

j'dutri  dui  ciizin  german. 
O  scap6  vui  dutre,  done, 

cun  i  vostri  pcit  anfan; 
Nui  daruma  '1  fo  a  Tuluza, 

bruzeruma  pcit  e  grand. — 

Nigra,  C:  Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,  i888),  No.  4 
A,  pp.  51-56. 


LES  GAS   DE  GUERANDE 


Sont  les  g^s  de  Gu6rande 
Qui  viv*  en  bons  gargons, 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
Qui  viv'  en  bons  gargons, 
Falaridain'  don  don. 

lis  sont  bien  vingt  ou  trente, 
Tous  les  trente-z-en  prison, 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
Tous  les  trente-z-en  prison, 
Falaridain'  don  don. 


TKe  Lads  of  Guerande  169 

"Let  loose  a  bit  your  bridle  rein 

That  seems  the  horse  to  bind." 
The  rider  strikes  his  spurs  again, 

The  horse  flies  like  the  wind. 

But  when  he  reaches  Toulouse  bridge, 

All  three  are  hanging  dead. 
He  sets  his  hand  upon  his  sword, 

Strikes  off  the  Judge's  head : 
"One  was  my  youngest  brother, 

The  two  near  kin!"  he  said. 

"O  fly,  fly,  all  you  women, 

With  little  children,  all! 
We  will  set  fire  to  Toulouse  town, 

And  bum  both  great  and  small!" 


THE   LADS  OF  GUERANDE 

(French) 

It  is  the  lads  of  Guerande, 
Their  jolly  life  is  done; 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
Their  jolly  life  is  done, 
Falaridain'  don  don! 

They  are  a  score,  and  maybe  ten  more, 
In  prison  every  one, 
Falaridain'  falaridon. 
And  in  prison  every  one, 
Falaridain'  don  don! 


170  FolK-Dallads  of  SoutHem  Hvirope 

Le  plus  jeune  des  trente 
Savait  une  chanson, 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
Savait  une  chanson, 
Falaridain'  don  don. 

Tout'  les  dam'  de  la  ville 
Sont  accourues  au  son, 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
Sont  accourues  au  son, 
Falaridain'  don  don. 

Les  prisons  sont  ouvertes, 
Les  prisonniers  s'en  vont, 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
Les  prisonniers  s'en  vont, 
Falaridain'  don  don. 

Les  uns  s'en  vont  a  Nantes, 
Les  aut '  a  Hennebont, 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
Les  aut'  a  Hennebont, 
Falaridain'  don  don. 

Decombe,  Lucien:    Chansons    Populaires:   D'llle-  el-Vilaine 
(Rennes,  1884),  pp.  319-320. 

§ALGA 

Sus  pe  malul  DunS.rei 
La  perdeoa  cu  cam  rei 
A  §alghii  a  vadanei 
Este-o  turma  de  c^riani 
PS,scuta  de  opt  ciobani, 
Turma  §alghii  cea  frumos^ 
Ca  §oimul  de  inimosa. 


SKalg'a  171 


The  youngest  of  the  thirty, 
He  knew  a  song  to  sing; 
Falaridairi'  falaridon, 
He  knew  a  song  to  sing, 
Falaridain'  don  don! 

All  the  ladies  of  the  town, 
To  hear  came  hurrying; 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
To  hear  came  hurrying, 
Falaridain'  don  don! 

The  prison  doors  are  opened, 
The  prisoners  all  go; 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
The  prisoners  all  go, 
Falaridain'  don  don! 

Some  are  gone  to  Nantes, 
The  rest  to  Hennebont; 
Falaridain'  falaridon, 
The  rest  to  Hennebont, 
Falaridain'  don  don! 


SHALGA 

(Roumanian) 

Where  the  Danube  bank  is  high. 
The  sheepf olds  of  Shalga  lie ; 
Shalga's  shepherds  wake  to  fight 
With  the  raiders  at  midnight ; 
Raiders  fierce,  and  in  their  hands 
Daggers  sharp  and  leathern  bands; 


172  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  £,virope 

La  perdea  'n  m!e(^ul  noptjel 
Nemerit-au  haMucei, 
Nemerit-au,  navalit-au, 
Palo§ele  zinghenit-au, 
Pe  dobani  legatu-mi-au, 
Dul^i  'mpu5catu-i-au. 
Ear  pe  baciul  eel  mai  mare 
II  fereca  §1  mai  tare 
Cu  cotele  la  spinare 
De  striga  cS,  reu  il  doare : 
"C^pitan  Caracatuci 
VStS,jel  peste  haiduci! 
Peste  cincK  sute  §i  cinci 
Tot  haidud  de  eel  voinic!. 
De-ai  fS,cut  vr'o  datS.  bine, 
F^-\i  o  mils.  §i  cu  mine 
§i  'mi  deslegS,  brat;ele, 
Reii  me  dor  sermanele!" 
Capitanul  se  'mblin(^ia, 
Bra^ele-i  le  slobo^ia. 
EarS,  baciul  cum  sc§.pa, 
M^na  'n  sinu-§i  o  b^ga 
Bucium  de  aur  cS,ta, 
§i  de  trei  ori  buciuma, 
VS,ile  se  resuna, 
Frun(^ele  se  cl3,tina, 
§alga'n  somnu-i  I'auc^ia, 
Din  somn  §alga  se  tre^ia, 
La  s6crS,-sa  se  ducea 
§i  din  gur3,  a§a-i  (^icea: 
"MaicS,,  m^iculi^a  mea! 
N'au(Ji?i  tu  bucium^nd 


SKalga  173 

Dogs  lie  dead  upon  the  ground ; 
Every  shepherd  is  fast  bound. 
The  chief  shepherd  now  they  bind 
Till  his  elbows  meet  behind, 
Bind  him  in  hard  bands  so  fast 
That  he  cries  in  pain  at  last : 
"Captain  Caracatuci,  heed! 
Thou  who  dost  so  proudly  lead 
Thy  five  thousand  men  and  five, 
If  thou  ever  yet  wast  kind 
To  one  wretched  soul  alive, 
Pity  me  and  bid  unbind. 
For  I  am  in  agony; 
Oh,  in  mercy  set  me  free!" 

Now  for  pity  of  his  prayer. 
Captain  Caracatuci  there 
Bids  them  loose  the  shepherd's  bands. 
Scarcely  have  they  freed  his  hands, 
When  the  shepherd  hastily 
Draws  his  flute  of  cherry-tree 
That  lies  hidden  in  his  breast ; 
To  its  stops  his  lips  are  pressed. 
Long  and  sweet  the  sound  he  brings; 
Far  away  the  valley  rings ; 
On  the  trees  the  green  leaves  shiver, 
And  down  in  the  Danube  River 
Waters  boil  and  fishes  leap. 
Shalga  hears  across  her  sleep 
That  long  cry  the  flute  is  making; 
Shalga  hears  in  sleep,  and,  waking, 
To  her  old  grandmother  goes. 

"Hark,  oh,  hark,  grandmother  dearest. 
Far  away  thou  surely  hearest 


174  rolK-Dallads  of  SovitKern  E-virope 

§i  vSile  resundnd? 

Nu  stii,  maica  ciobani! 
Retacit-au  carlanii, 
Ori  drumul  aii  retacit, 
Ori  haiduci  i-au  navalit?" 
Baba  socra  respundea: 
"Mevgi  te  culca  fata  mea, 
De  ciobani  nu  te  'ngrijia 
C'a§a  buciumu  ei  cu  dor 
Cdnd  le  'i  dor  de  casa  lor.  ** 


S6cra  bine  nu  sfir§-(a, 
§alga  ear  cS,  au^ia 
Glas  de  bucium  resundnd, 
Pan'  in  sufiet  resbat^nd. 


"Hel!  copii,  copil  arga^^!! 
Somnul  dulce  voi  l^sa-tl, 
§'un  cal  iute'mi  in§§,ua^5f, 
Puneti  §aua  b2.rbStesce, 
Se  incalec  voinicesce. " 


Ea  pe  cal  se  arunca 
§i  spre  Dunare-alerga 
Haulind  §i  chiuind, 
Buzduganul  invertind, 
C^t  haiduci!  o  zS,ria 


SKalg'a  175 


How  the  shepherd's  flute  is  singing, 
How  the  vallej'S  all  are  ringing; 
Dearest  grandmother,  who  knows 
What  ill-fortune  is  befalling 
To  my  shepherds?  are  they  calling 
To  my  sheep  who  go  astray? 
Have  the  shepherds  lost  their  way 
In  the  woods,  or  do  they  fight 
With  the  raiders  in  the  night?" 
Said  the  mother:  "Dearest,  sleep, 
For  the  shepherds  and  the  sheep 
Trouble  thy  sweet  heart  no  more. 
A  shepherd  of  the  Danube  shore 
Will  flute  all  night  for  mere  desire 
To  see  again  his  own  hearth-fire." 


Ere  she  finished,  came  again, 
Sad  and  long,  the  far  flute's  singing, 
Setting  all  the  valleys  ringing, 
Piercing  Shalga's  heart  with  pain. 

"Wake,  my  men,  my  maids  awake! 
From  your  eyes  sweet  slumber  shake! 
Saddle  my  best  horse  for  me 
With  man's  saddle,  soldierly. 
For  manlike  to-night  I  ride." 

To  the  horse  she  leaps,  astride, 
Toward  the  Danube  bank  she  spurs, 
Whirls  her  ax  above  her  head, 
Crying  that  fierce  cry  of  hers. 
Swift  are  all  the  raiders  fled; 


176  FolK-Ballads  of  So\itKern  Elurope 

Loc  de  fugS,  nu  gS.siS,, 
EarS  §alga-l  urm3,ria 
§i  din  gur3,-a§a  rS,cn5fa : 
"Ean  astept'  ast^pt'  ast^pt^ 
Se  luptSm  la  luptS,  dr^ptS 
CS.pitan  Caracatuci, 
V3,tS,jel  peste  haldud, 
Peste  cinci  sute  §i  cine! 
Tot  haidud  de  cei  voinici! 
StS,i  pe  loc  se  ne'ntilnim 
DoS,  vorbe  se  grS,im 
§i'n  arme  se  ne  lovim, 
C3,  me  giur  pe  Dumnec^eu ! 
Se  te  'nv2,t  eu,  fetul  meu, 
Cum  se  l^gS,  ciobani!, 
Cum  se  pradS,  cS.rlanil. " 
C3,pitan  Caracatuci 
Ceta§  mare  de  haiduc! 
Se  ducea,  ducea,  ducea, 
Nid  capul  nu-§?  intorcea. 
§alga-5[  idi,  ^alga-l  colea, 
Capul  din  fug^-i  tSia! 
Capu  'n  urmS,  rem^nea, 
Trupu  'nainte  fugia, 
S^ngele  pireu  curgea, 
Drumnul  ro§  cS,  se  f3,cea! 

Ci-c3,,  m&ri  de  pe-atund, 
C^nd  vinu  cete  de  haMud, 
Drumul  lor  nid  cS,  gre§escfi, 
Nici  c3,,  ^en  mai  nimerescu, 
La  perd6oa  cu  cdnl  re! 
A  §alghii  a  vS,dane?, 
De  pe  malul  DunSrei. 
Alecsandri,  Vasile:  Poesii  Populare  ale  Rom&nilor  (BucurescI, 
1866),  pp. 58-61. 


SKalg'a  177 

Space  for  flight  they  scarce  can  find, 
Shalga  comes  so  swift  behind. 
Captain  Caracatuci  hears 
Shalga  at  his  very  ears, 
Crying:  "Wait,  and  let  us  fight! 
Let  us  try  our  arms  to-night ! 

"Captain  Caracatuci,  heed! 

Thou  who  dost  so  proudly  lead 

Thy  five  thousand  men  and  five ! 

Stay  and  change  two  words  with  me! 

Stay  and  meet  me  soldierly, 

If  thou  would'st  be  saved  alive, 

For  by  God  in  Heaven,  I  swear, 

I  will  teach  thee  how  they  fare 

Who  rob  my  flocks  and  bind  my  men!" 

Captain  Caracatuci  then, 

As  he  listens  to  her  cries. 

Only  flies  and  flies  and  flies ; 

Dares  not  turn  his  head  for  fear 

Of  Shalga  there  and  Shalga  here. 

Shalga  fiercely  flying  past 

Strikes  his  head  off  as  she  goes; 

Horse  and  body  still  ride  fast. 

Backward  falls  the  severed  head. 

Like  a  stream  his  life-blood  flows, 

And  the  dusty  road  runs  red. 

Brother,  since  that  night  they  say. 
When  the  raiders  come  this  way. 
That  they  lose  their  road  no  more; 
That  they  never  linger  by 
Shalga's  sheepfolds  where  they  lie 
High  upon  the  Danube  shore. 


Biblical  and  Apocryphal 
Ballads 


179 


LA   FUITO  EN   EGYPTO 

Un  angi  avertit  Maria 
Et  Jause  de  s'enanar, 

Jesus,  Mario! 
Et  Jause  de  s'enanar, 

Jesus,  Maria! 

Li  a  di:  Jause,  fai  belo, 
Fau  plus  gaire  demourar, 

Ai  ausit  uno  nouvelo 

Qu'  Herodo  vous  fai  cercar, 

Voudrie  faire  mourir  Jesus, 
Esto  nuech  lou  fau  sauvar. 

Quand  la  Viergi  s'enanavo 
Erne  soun  enfant  au  bras, 

Rescontro  bouyer  brav'homme 
Que  samenavo  soun  blad: 

— Digo-me,  bouyer  brav'homme, 
Tu  que  samenes  toun  blad, 

Fai  la  reg'  un  pau  plus  grande 
Per  pousque  me  I'y  acclapar. 

— N'en  farai  pas,  belo  damo, 
N'en  farai  pa  'n  tau  peccat. 

— Vai-t'en  cercar  toun  aurame 
Et  meissounaras  toun  blad. 
1 80 


THE   FLIGHT   INTO   EGYPT 

(Provengal) 

An  angel  warns  Joseph  and  Mary, 
They  must  arise  and  go, 

Jesu!  Maria  I 
They  must  arise  and  go, 

Jesu!  Maria! 

He  has  said:  "Make  ready,  Joseph, 

You  can  no  longer  stay ; 
For  news  is  come  that  Herod 

Is  seeking  you  to-day. 

"This  night  you  must  be  going, 
To  save  the  child  from  harm." 

Then  Mary  Virgin  rises 
With  her  baby  on  her  arm. 

They  meet  with  a  good  peasant, 

A-sowing  of  his  seed: 
"Oh,  tell  me,  my  good  peasant, 

A-sowing  of  thy  seed. 
Canst  thou  not  make  the  furrow  wide. 

To  hide  me  in  my  need?" 

"  I  cannot,  my  fair  lady, 

For  that  would  be  great  sin. " 

"Go  then  and  bring  thy  sickle. 
And  take  thy  harvest  in. " 
i8i 


l82  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  E.virope 

— Coumo  pourrie-ti  se  faire 
Tout  beou  just  I'ai  samenat. 

Lou  brav'homme  se  reviro 
Soun  blad  es  tout  espigat ; 

N'en  fouguet  pas  un  quart  d'houro 
Sieguet  flourit  et  granat. 

La  premiero  garbo  que  coupo 
La  Santo  Viergi  la  liad'. 

La  secoundo  garbo  que  coupo 
La  Santo  Viergi  s'es  cachad'. 

— Se  les  faus  judious  passavoun 
Digo  li  la  verita. 

N'en  fouguet  pas  un  quart  d'houro 
Les  faus  judious  ant  passat: 

— N'as  pas  vist  passar  Mario 
Erne  soun  enfant  au  bras? 

— Quand  Mario  n'en  passavo 
Samenav'  encar'  moun  blad. 

Adounc,  se  disoun  I'un  I'autre, 
Aquot  ero  I'an  passat. 

Sant  Jause  prend  la  saumeto 
Quand  les  judious  sount  passats; 

La  Viergi  se  I'y  asseto 
Erne  soun  enfant  au  bras; 


The  FligHt  into   HgVpt  183 

"How  should  I  reap  my  harvest? 

My  seed  is  scarcely  sown!" 
The  peasant  looks  behind  him, 

And  lo !  the  blade  is  grown ; 
And  within  a  quarter-hour 

'T  is  ready  to  be  mown. 


The  first  sheaf  of  his  cutting 
The  Holy  Virgin  bound; 

Behind  the  second  row  of  sheaves 
A  hiding-place  she  found. 


"If  the  false  Jews  come  riding, 
The  whole  truth  thou  must  speak. 

Within  a  quarter-hour 

The  Jews  come  there  to  seek: 


"Good  man,  has  Mary  passed  here 
With  her  little  child  to-day?" 

"I  was  but  sowing  of  my  field 
When  Mary  passed  this  way." 


They  say  one  to  the  other: 

"That  must  have  been  last  year.' 
Saint  Joseph  brings  the  little  ass, 

When  the  false  Jews  disappear; 


The  Virgin  sits  upon  it, 

With  her  baby  at  her  breast; 


i84  FolK- Ballads  of  SoutKern  Europe 

S'en  van  dedins  la  valleio, 
Mai  quand  sieguet  su  lou  tard, 

La  Viergi  n'es  espuisado 
De  tant  de  camin  qu'a  f ach ; 

Sant  Jause  duerbe  la  biasso 
Mai  se  ly  es  plus  ren  trouvat: 

Approuchem,  diguet  Mario, 
Doou  poumier  que  viou  eil^. 

— Mai  les  brancos  sount  tant  hautos 
Qui  ly  pourrai  pas  mountar. 

La  Viergi  ausso  ses  menotos 
Lou  poumier  s'es  abeissat. 

Quand  ant  set  lou  vin  et  I'aigo 
Doou  blanc  roucas  ant  coulat. 

D'eil^  ven  quatres  grands  laires 
Que  parlavoun  que  de  tuar. 

— Viergi,  coumo  pourrem  faire 
Per  I'Enfant  Jesus  sauvar? 

— V'aqmt  de  bouissouns  d'espignos 
Fau  vite  se  I'y  cachar. 

Lou  premier  chivau  que  passo 
Sente  soun  corps  mautratat; 

Lou  segound  chivau  que  passo 
N'a  lou  ventre  dechirat; 

Lou  troisieme  se  reculo, 
L'autre  fug'  'spouvantat.  .  .  . 


The  riis'Kt  into  E^gypt  185 

They  ride  into  the  valley, 

And  the  sun  sinks  in  the  west. 

The  Virgin  she  is  faint  for  food, 

With  the  long  way  they  have  come; 

Saint  Joseph  looks  into  the  bag. 
But  cannot  find  a  crumb. 

"Let  us  draw  near,"  said  Mary, 

"To  yonder  apple-tree;" 
"But  all  the  branches  grow  so  high, 

I  cannot  reach, "  said  he. 

When  Mary  lifts  her  Httle  hands 

The  apple-tree  bends  low; 
And  wine  and  water  for  her  thirst 

From  out  the  white  rocks  flow. 

There  came  along  four  robbers. 

With  wicked  words  and  wild. 
"O  Virgin,  what  shall  we  do  now, 

To  save  the  little  child?" 

"Now  we  must  quickly  hide  him 

Behind  that  hedge  of  thorn. " 
The  first  horse  leaped  across  the  hedge. 

And  all  his  breast  was  torn. 

The  second  horse  came  springing, 

His  belly  was  all  rent; 
The  third  reeled  back  in  terror, 

The  fourth  a-flying  went. 


1 86  FolK-Ballads  of   SovitHern  Europe 

Per  ana  'n  terro  d'Egypto 

Un  grand  bouesc  f au  traversar ; 

Ati  mitan  I'y  a  'n  mechant  hoste, 
Que  de  gens  qu'  a  massacrats! 

A  sa  filho  qu'es  marauto, 
Sa  fremo  I'a  sur  les  bras: 

— Dounariats  la  retirado 
A  de  roumious  fatigats? 

— Intretz  dedins  la  chambreto, 
Roumious,  per  vous  repausar. 

Dins  la  cour  couelo  fouent  claro 
La  Vierg'y  tremp'  un  pedas. 

Es  benesido  la  maire 

Qu'a  'n  tant  bel  enfant  au  bras. 

Prend  lou  pedas  de  sa  filho 
Lou  trempo  dins  lou  bachas. 

Et  quand  I'y  a  plegat  sa  filho 
Es  lusento  de  santa: 

Viam  ben  que  siatz  lou  messio 
Que  lou  bouen  Diou  a  mandat. 

Pardounetz-nous  nouestres  fautos 
Vous  que  venetz  nous  sauvar, 

Jesus,  Mario! 
Vous  que  venetz  nous  sauvar, 

Jesus,  Maria! 

Arbaud,    Damase:  Chants   Populaires   de  la   Provence    (Aix, 
1864),     pp.  235-240. 


TKe  FligKt  into  E^ypt  187 

To  reach  the  land  of  Egypt 

You  traverse  a  great  wood; 
Midway  is  an  inn  with  a  wicked  host, — 

How  he  murders  pilgrims  good! 

A  little  ailing  daughter 

His  wife  holds  at  her  breast. 
"  Is  there  not  here  a  chamber 

Where  pilgrims  may  find  rest?" 

"Enter  this  chamber,  pilgrims, 

And  rest  you  without  fear." 
And  Mary  dips  a  swaddling  cloth 

In  the  courtyard  fountain  clear. 

"Now  blessM  is  the  mother 

Who  bears  a  child  so  fair!" 
The  sick  child's  mother  dips  a  cloth 

In  the  same  water  there ; 

She  wraps  it  round  her  baby. 

And  it  shines  with  health  straightway. 
"Oh,  we  see  thou  art  Messiah, 

Whom  God  hath  sent  to-day! 

"Oh,  pardon,  pardon  all  our  sins, 
Thou  who  dost  come  to  save, 

Jesu!  Maria! 
Thou  who  dost  come  to  save, 

Jesu!  Maria!'' 


1 88  FolK-Ballads  of   SovitKern  E\arope 

MARIO   MADALENO 


Mario  Madaleno, 

La  pauro  peccairitz, 

S'en  vai,  de  pouert'  en  pouerto, 

Cercar  Diou  Jesus-Christ. 

Pass'^-n-uno  capelo, 
Jesus  I'y  ero  dedins, 
Doou  ped  piqu'  a  la  pouerto: 
"Jesus,  venetz  durbir." 

Sant  Jean  di  k  Sant  Peyre, 
"Regardo  qu  es  aquit. " 
"Es  Marie  Madaleno 
La  pauro  peccairitz." 

"Mario  Madaleno 

Eici  que  venes  far?" 

"Seignour  Diou,  moun  bouen  paire, 

Me  vene  counfessar." 

"Ah!  digo,  Madaleno, 
Ah!  digo  tes  peccats;" 
"N'ai  tant  fach  et  fa  faire 
Les  pourriou  pas  noumbrar; 

La  terro  que  me  pouerto 
Me  deurie  plus  pourtar, 
La  viir  ounte  siou  nado 
Se  deurie  proufoundar. " 


Mary  Magdalene  189 

MARY   MAGDALENE 

(Provengal) 

Poor  Mary  Magdalen^, 

Who  lives  a  life  of  sin, 
From  door  to  door  goes  seeking 

If  Jesus  stay  within. 

She  passes  by  a  chapel, 

And  there  indeed  is  He; 
Then  with  her  foot  she  beats  the  door: 

"Lord,  open  unto  me!" 

Saint  John  says  to  Saint  Peter: 

"See  who  would  enter  in." 
"'T  is  Mary  Magdalene, 

Who  lives  a  life  of  sin. " 

"0  Mary  Magdalen^, 

What  art  thou  doing  here?" 
"I  come  to  make  confession. 

Lord  God,  my  Father  dear!" 

"Speak,  Mary  Magdalen^, 

And  all  thy  sins  tell  true. " 
"I  have  done  and  caused  so  many, 

I  cannot  count  them  through. 

"The  very  ground  I  stand  on, 

Oh,  it  should  swallow  me ; 
The  very  town  where  I  was  bom 

Should  sink  into  the  sea!"' 


1 90  FolK-Dallads  of  SoxitKern  Europe 

"Sept  ans  souto  la  baumo 
Te  foudr'  ana'  estar. " 
Au  bout  de  sept  anneios 
Jesus-Christ  I'y  a-  passat. 

"Mario  Madaleno, 
De  que  tu  n'as  viscut?" 
"De  racinos  sauvageos 
Et  n'ai  pas  toujou'  agut;" 

"Mario  Madaleno, 
De  qu'  aiguo  n'  as  begut?" 
"N'es  d'aiguo  trebourado 
Et  n'ai  pas  toujou'  agut." 

"Seignour  Diou,  mouen  bouen  paire, 
Mes  mans  voudriou  lavar;" 
Jesus  piqu'  a  la  roco, 
D'aiguo  n'en  a  raiat. 

"  Ai!  belo  man  blanqueto, 
Blanco  coumo  lou  lach; 
Fresco  coumo  la  roso, 
Qu  t'a  vist  et  te  vei!" 

"Mario  Madaleno, 
Toumes  dins  lou  peccat,     , 
Sept  ans  as  resta  'n  baumo, 
Sept  ans  I'y  toumaras. " 

"Seignour  Diou,  movm  bouen  pairs, 
Coumo  pourrail'y'star?" 
"Ta  souere  Santo  Martho 
T'anara  counsoular ; 


Mary  Magdalene  191 

"Seven  years  in  yonder  cavern, 

0  Mary,  thou  must  stay." 

And  when  the  seven  years  were  done, 
Christ  Jesus  passed  that  way. 

"O  Mary  Magdalen^, 

Tell  me,  how  dost  thou  thrive?" 
"I  eat  the  wild  roots  of  the  wood, 
'     And  scarcely  keep  alive. " 

"O  Mary  Magdalen^, 

What  water  dost  thou  drink?" 
"A  water  scant  and  muddy, 

Until  my  tongue  doth  shrink. 

"0  Lord  God,  my  good  Father, 

1  long  to  wash  my  hands. " 
Then  Jesus  strikes  fresh  water 

From  the  rock  near  which  He  stands. 

"Ah,  lovely  little  white  hand. 

Fresh  as  a  rose  might  be ! 
All  white  and  fresh  as  morning  milk, 

Oh,  thou  art  good  to  see!" 

"Ah,  Mary  Magdalen^, 

Now  dost  thou  sin  again ; 
Seven  years  hast  thou  dwelt  in  this  cave, 

Seven  more  thou  must  remain. " 

"  Dear  Lord,  here  in  this  cavern, 

How  can  I  longer  stay?" 
"Saint  Martha,  thy  good  sister. 

Will  comfort  thee  each  day. 


192  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern.  E-\irope 

' '  La  bianco  couloumbeto 
Te  pour  tar  'a  dinar, 
Et  les  auceous  que  pitoun 
T'anaran  abeurar. " 

"Seignour  Diou,  moun  bouen  paire, 
Me  I'y  fetz  plus  tournar, 
Des  larmos  de  mes  uelhs 
Les  mans  me  lavarai, 

"  Des  larmos  de  mes  uehls 

Les  peds  vous  lavarai, 

Des  chevus  de  ma  teste 

Vous  les  eissugarai. " 
Arbaud,   Damase:  Chants   Populaires   de  la  Provence     (Aix, 
1862:    not    in    1864   ed.),    pp.   64-67.      Also    Briz   y  Salt6: 
Cansons  de  la  Terra  (Barcelona,  1866-7),  vol.  ii.,  pp.  102-103. 

SANTA   MADALENA 

Marta  's  lleva  demati 

a  sermd  se  ne's  anada, 
quan  tornava  de  sermd 

se'n  va  a  casa  sa  germana. 

Dalt  del  eel, 
dalt  del  eel  tindr^m  posada, 
dalt  del  eel. 

Madalena's  pentinava 

ab  una  pinta  daurada, 
mentres  que  se  'n  pentinava 

ja  n'arriba  sa  germana. 
"Me  dirias  Madalena 

si  has  anat  a  missa  encara?" 
"No  hi  he  anat,  germana,  no, 

ni  en  tal  cosa  no  hi  pensava. " 


Saint  Mary  Magdalene  193 

"The  white  dove  of  the  forest 

Each  day  will  fetch  thee  food; 
The  little  birds  that  peck  about 

Will  bring  thee  water  good. " 

"O  Lord  God,  my  good  Father, 

Send  me  not  back  again ! 
I  '11  wash  my  hands  with  tears  that  fall 

From  out  my  eyes  like  rain ; 

"With  tears  from  my  eyes  falling 

I  will  wash  white  and  fair 
Thy  blessM  feet,  O  Jesus, 

And  dry  them  with  my  hair!" 


SAINT   MARY   MAGDALENE 

(Catalan) 

Martha  rose  and  went  to  mass, 

Very  early  in  the  morning; 
After  service  she  passed  by 

Her  sister's  house,  homeward  returning. 

Up  in  Heaven. 

Up  in  Heaven  shall  he  a  dwelling, 

Up  in  Heaven. 

Magdalen^  combed  her  hair 
With  a  comb  all  gilded  bright; 

Just  as  she  is  combing  it. 

Her  sister  Martha  comes  in  sight. 

"Have  you  been  to  mass  to-day? 

Tell  me  truly,  Magdalene." 
"I  've  not  even  thought  of  it; 

No,  indeed,  I  have  not  been. " 


194  FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitHern  E^urope 

"Veshi,  veshi,  Madalena, 

quedaras  enamorada, 
que  hi  predica  un  jovenet 

un  angel  del  eel  semblava. " 
Madalena  se  'n  va  d  dalt 

d  posars'  las  sevas  galas; 
se  'n  posa  los  anells  d'  or, 

las  manillas  y  arracadas, 
y  la  prenda  del  or  fi 

al  seu  cor  se  la  posava, 
y  tamb^  lo  manto  d'  or 

que  per  terra  arrossegava. 


Madalena  se  n'  hi  va 

ab  SOS  criats  y  criadas. 
Al  se'  al  entrant  de  la  sgleya 

se  mig  gira  a  una  criada. 
"Valgam  Deu,  quin  jovenet, 

Uastima  que  sia  frare!" 
A  la  porta  de  la  sgleya 

deixa  als  que  1'  acompanyavan. 
Sgleya  amunt,  sgleya  avail 

no  troba  lloch  hont  posarse ; 
per  sentir  mill6'  '1  sermo 

sota  la  trona  's  posava. 
Lo  primer  mot  del  sermo 

per  Madalena  ja  anava. 
Las  paraulas  que  sentia 

totas  lo  cor  li  tocavan. 


Saint  Mary  Magdalene  195 

"Go,  go,  Magdalen^,  go! 

You  will  surely  fall  in  love, 
For  the  youth  who  preached  is  like 

An  angel  come  from  Heaven  above. " 

Magdalen^  went  upstairs 

To  put  on  her  jewels  gay; 
Rings  and  bracelets  all  of  gold 

And  earrings  she  put  on  that  day ; 

A  clasp  she  wore  above  her  heart 

Of  gold  the  finest  ever  found. 
And  her  mantle  trimmed  with  gold 

Trailed  behind  her  on  the  ground. 

Magdalen^  went  along 

With  many  a  page  and  many  a  maid ; 
At  the  entrance  of  the  church. 

To  a  maid  she  turned  and  said: 

"That  youth,  good  God!  it  is  a  pity 

To  make  a  friar  of  such  as  he!" 
At  the  great  door  of  the  church 

She  dismissed  her  company. 

Up  the  church  and  down  the  church, 

She  goes  and  cannot  find  a  seat ; 
So  under  the  pulpit  she  sits  down, 

Right  below  the  friar's  feet. 

At  the  first  word  that  he^  spoke 

Magdalcnd  gave  a  start ; 
Every  word  she  listened  to 

Touched  her  at  her  very  heart, 


196  FolK-Ballads  of  So\itKern  £,\arope 

Quan  son  al  mig  del  sermo 

Madalena  cau  en  basca. 
"No  't  desmayis  Madalena 

que  lo  sermo  ja  s'  acaba. " 
Ja  se  'n  treu  los  anells  d'or, 

las  manillas  y  arracadas, 
y  la  prenda  del  or  fi 

als  seus  peus  se  la  posava. 
Acabat  qu'  es  lo  sermd 

Madalena  se  'n  tomava. 
A  la  porta  de  la  sgleya 

un  penitent  hi  trobava. 
"Me  dirias,  penitent, 

ahont  es  aquell  bon  frare?'* 
"A  la  taula  n'  es  Jesus, 

n'  es  alld  que  dina  encara." 


Madalena  se  n'  hi  va 

sota  la  taula  's  posava. 
Los  ossos  que  Jesus  llensa 

ella  los  arreplegava. 
Ab  llagrimas  dels  seus  uUs 

los  peus  de  Cristo  rentava 
y  ab  la  sua  cabellera 

Madalena  'Is  aixugava. 
Bon  Jesus  se  'n  va  adonar 

promptement  li  preguntava: 
"Que  buscas  tu,  Madalena, 

que  buscas  sota  la  taula?" 


Saint  Mary  Magdalene  ^  197 

When  the  sermon  was  half  done. 

She  fell  fainting  on  the  floor ; 
"He  '11  soon  finish,  Magdalene, 

Don't  be  frightened  any  more. " 

She  has  taken  her  rings  of  gold. 

Her  earrings  and  her  bracelets  all, 
And  her  clasp  of  finest  gold: 

At  his  feet  she  lets  them  fall. 

When  the  sermon  was  all  done, 

Magdalen^  turned  and  went 
To  the  great  door  of  the  church, 

Where  she  found  a  penitent. 

•'Penitent,  where  is  he  gone? 

Tell  me  truly,  if  you  're  able. " 
"Jesus  has  not  dined  as  yet; 

He  is  seated  at  the  table." 

Magdalen^  went  along ; 

Underneath  the  table  crept, 
And  the  bones  that  Jesus  dropped 

With  her  hands  together  swept. 

With  the  tears  from  out  her  eyes 
The  feet  of  Christ  she  washes  there; 

She  has  washed  them  with  her  tears. 
And  she  has  dried  them  with  her  hair. 

The  good  Jesus  looks  on  her. 

And  he  asks  her,  gently  speaking: 
"What  dost  thou  seek,  Magdalene, 

Underneath  the  table  seeking?" 


198  FolK-Ballads  of  SoiatHern  £.urope 

"Busco  per  aqui  a  Jesus 

si  voldria  confessarme. " 
"De  que  't  confessaras  tu? 

De  que  't  confessaras  ara?" 
"De  que  me  'n  confessar^? 

De  las  mas  culpas  passadas." 
"La  penitencia  que  't  d6 

set  anys  en  una  montanya 
menjant  herbas  y  fenolls, 

menjant  herbas  amargantas.  '* 
Acabat  de  los  set  anys 

Jesus  per  alii  passava. 
"Alsat,  alsat  Madalena 

que  ja  ne  estds  perdonada. " 
Madalena  se  n*  alsat 

cap  a  casa  se  n'  tornava. 


Quan  va  ser  d.  mig  cami 

troba  una  font  de  aiga  clara. 
Ab  r  aiga  de  aquella  font 

las  sevas  mans  se  'n  rentava. 
"Ay,  mans  qui  'us  ha  vist  y  'us  v6u 

com  ne  son  desfigtuadas ! " 
Ja  sent  una  veu  que  diu: 

"Madalena  n'  ets  pecada." 
"Angel  meu  si  n'  hi  pecat 

penitencia  'm  siga  dada." 
"Torna,  torna  Madalena 

set  anys  en  una  montanya 


Saint  Mary  Magdalene  199 

"  It  is  Jesus  I  seek  here, 

To  confess  myself  to-day, " 
"What  is  it  thou  would'st  confess? 

What  would'st  thou  confess,  now,  say?" 

"What  would  I  confess?    Alas! 

All  the  old  sins  I  have  done!" 
"On  a  mountain  thou  must  live 

In  penance  till  seven  years  are  gone, 

"Eating  grass  and  fennel  there. 

Eating  bitter  herbs  and  grass. " 
When  the  seven  years  are  gone, 

Jesus  by  that  way  doth  pass : 

"Now  thy  sins  are  all  forgiven. 

Rise  up,  Magdalene,  arise." 
Magdalene  arises  then. 

And  straightway  toward  her  house  she  hies. 

Half  way  on  the  road  she  sees 

A  spring  of  water  clear  and  bright; 

In  the  water  of  the  spring 

Her  two  hands  she  washes  white. 

"0  my  hands,  how  you  are  spoiled! 

Oh,  to  see  you  and  have  seen!" 
Then  she  hears  a  voice  that  cries: 

"Thou  art  a  sinner,  Magdalene!" 

"Angel  mine,  if  I  have  sinned, 
Some  one  should  a  penance  give. " 

"Turn  back,  turn  back,  Magdalene; 
Seven  years  on  the  mountain  live, 


200  FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKern  E-urope 

menjant  herbas  y  fenolls, 

menjant  herbas  amargantas." 
Acabats  los  catorz'  anys 

Madalena  ja  'n  finava. 
San  Joseph  n*  era  '1  fuster 

que  la  caixa  li  clavava, 
San  Joan  n'  era  '1  florista 

que  li  feya  la  enramada, 
los  dngels  li  feyan  Hum, 

la  Verge  1'  amortallava, 
y  ab  gran  cantarella  al  eel 

cap  al  eel  se  la  empujavan. 

Briz  y  Salt6:  Cansons  de  la  Terra  (Barcelona,  1867),  vol.  ii., 
pp.  95-104. 


LA   SAMARITANA 

Que  ditxosa  fou 

la  Samaritana 
que  anant  a  la  font 

d  Jesus  trobava. 
Esposa  del  eel 
volguda  y  aymada! 

Jesus  li  digu^: 

"Si  'm  vols  donar  aiga. " 
"No  per  cert  senyor 

que  'm  costa  de  traure. " 
"Be  me  'n  donarias 

si  t*  endevinava. " 


XKe  Samaritan  "Woman  201 

"Eating  grass  and  fennel  there, 

Eating  bitter  herbs  and  grass. " 
When  the  fourteen  years  are  gone, 

Magdalene's  soul  doth  pass. 

Saint  Joseph  was  the  carpenter, 

And  the  coffin  nails  he  drove; 
Saint  John  he  was  the  gardener, 

And  a  wreath  of  flowers  he  wove ; 

Angels  bore  the  lights  for  her; 

The  Virgin  laid  her  in  her  shroud ; 
Straight  to  Heaven  they  carried  her. 

In  a  chorus  singing  loud : 

Up  in  Heaven, 
Up  in  Heaven  shall  he  a  dwelling. 
Up  in  Heaven! 


THE   SAMARITAN   WOMAN 

{Catalan) 

The  Samaritan  woman  (such  good  fortune  befell) 
She  found  Jesus  sitting  one  day  at  the  well. 

0  bride  of  Heaven! 
Desired  and  beloved! 

Jesus  said  to  her:  "Woman, 

Give  me  drink  of  this  water. " 
"Oh,  no  indeed,  Senor, 

'T  is  too  hard  work  to  draw  it.  ** 
"Thou  wilt  give  me  to  drink, 

1  am  sure,  of  this  water, 
If  I  tell  thee  thy  fortune, 

All  thy  life  as  I  saw  it." 


202  FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitHem  E.\irope 

"Si  me  'n  endivindu, 

jo  'us  dar^  de  1'  aiga." 
"Ne  tens  tres  galants 

tots  sentats  d  taula, 
lo  un  se  'n  diu  Pere, 

r  altre  se  'n  diu  Jaume, 
r  altre  Salvador 

que  tot  lo  mon  salva. " 
"Beveune  Senyor 

bev^une  de  1'  aiga." 
"  No  vull  aiga  no 

que  vull  la  teva  anima. " 
Ella  agafa  'Is  cantis 

y  A  casa  tornava. 
Troba  'Is  tres  galants 

a  dins  de  sa  casa. 
lo  un  ne  fa  foch, 

r  altre  n'  escombrava, 
r  altre  es  pM  cami 

que  me  la  esperava. 
Li  diu  lo  mes  xich 

"Dona  qu'  ets  tardada?" 
"Martx^une  galants 

martx^ime  de  casa, 
un  jove  he  trobat 

que  m'  ha  il-luminada, " 
"No  sia  '1  dimoni 

que  t'  haja  tentada." 
"No  era  '1  dimoni 

que  un  dngel  semblava." 


THe  Samaritan  Woman  203 

"  I  will  give  you  the  water, 

Divine  if  you  're  able." 
"Three  lovers  thou  hast 

Who  sit  at  thy  table; 
The  first  is  called  James, 

The  second  is  Peter, 
The  third  is  caUed  Saviour, 

For  the  world  he  is  saving. " 
"Oh,  drink  again,  Sefior; 

No  water  is  sweeter." 
"No  water  I  crave, 

Who  for  thy  soul  am  craving.  ** 

She  filled  all  her  jars, 

To  her  own  house  returning; 
There  she  found  the  three  lovers, 

The  house  they  were  keeping. 
The  first  of  the  lovers, 

The  floor  he  was  sweeping ; 
The  second  was  busy 

To  keep  the  fire  burning; 
But  the  third  lover  stood 

In  the  roadway  and  waited. 
He  called  out,  the  youngest : 

"Why  are  you  belated?" 

"Go  away,  0  my  lovers! 

Depart  from  my  dwelling! 
I  have  found  a  strange  youth, 

My  whole  life  he  's  been  telling. " 
"  'T  is  most  Hkely  a  devil, 

To  tempt  you  to  sinning!" 
"There  was  never  a  devil 

So  angelic  and  winning.  " 


204  rolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  flvirope 

Ella  pren  los  cantis 

y  a  la  font  tornava. 
Al  ser  a  la  font 

d,  ningu  hi  trobava. 
Ella  pren  los  cantis 

y  s'e  'n  torna  a  casa 
al  se'  d  mig  cami 

una  creu  trobava. 
Ne  cau  de  genolls 

ab  las  mans  plegadas 
y  ab  aquella  creu 

de  tot  cor  s'  hi  abrassa: 
ab  una  pedreta 

los  pits  se  trucava. 
Li  crida  una  veu: 

"Ja  estas  perdonada. " 
Briz   y  Salt6:  Cansons  de  la  Terra  (Barcelona,  1867),  vol. 
ii.,  pp.  205-210. 

LOU   MARRI   RICHE 

La  maire  de  diou  plouro 

dessus  ses  blancs  ginous, 
Soun  cher  fiou  li  demando : 

"ma  mero  qu'  avetz  vous?" 

"lou  n'  en  ploure  des  paures 

que  n'  en  moueroun  de  fam." 

"Plouretz  pas  plus,  ma  maire, 
les  riches  li  daran. " 

"Un  pau  d'oumoin',  6  riche, 
au  noum  de  Jesus-Christ. " 

"Lou  bouen  Diou  vous  assiste 
de  pan  iou  n'  en  ai  gis. " 


The  WicKed  RicK  Man  205 

Once  more  to  the  fountain 

The  jars  she  has  taken ; 
But  no  one  she  finds  there, 

The  place  is  forsaken. 
She  Hfts  up  the  jars, 

And  homeward  is  bound,  then. 
About  half-way  along, 

A  stone  cross  she  found,  then. 

She  falls  down  on  her  knees, 

Her  clasped  hands  upholding; 
With  both  arms  the  cross 

To  her  heart  she  is  folding. 
As  she  beats  with  a  stone 

On  her  breast  sad  and  burdened. 
She  hears  a  voice  crying : 

"Behold!  thou  art  pardoned ! " 


THE   WICKED   RICH   MAN 

(Provcngal) 

The  Mother  of  God  is  weeping 
Underneath  her  white  coverchief . 

Her  dear  Son  asks  her:  "  Mother, 
Tell  me,  what  is  your  grief?" 

"My  Son,  I  weep  for  the  beggars; 

They  die  of  hunger,  "  she  said. 
"Now  weep  no  more,  my  mother; 

The  rich  will  give  them  bread. " 

"Give  bread  for  alms,  O  rich  man! 

In  the  name  of  Christ,  I  pray. " 
"Now  may  the  good  God  help  you! 

I  have  no  bread  to-day." 


2o6  FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  E-urope 

"Donnetz  me  les  briguetos 

que  vos  toumboun  davant;" 

"Les  briguetos  que  toumboun 

n'en  soun  per  mes  chins  blancs." 

Dedins  la  quinzenado 

eou  n'  en  ven  a  mourir, 
Doou  ped  piqu'  a  la  pouerto 

doou  Seignour  Jesus-Christ. 

Sant  Jean  di  a  Sant  Peyre: 

"Regardo  qu  es  aqui;" 
"N'  en  es  lou  mam  riche, 

voou  intra  'n  Paradis. " 

"Alors  tu  dounc  demand© 

ce  qu'  a  fa'  a  soun  pays, 
s'  k  fach  r  oumoin'  es  paures 

vesti  les  maus  vestits. " 

"Ai  pas  fach  1' oumoin'  es  paures 
I         vesti  les  maus  vestits; 
mai  se  iou  retournave 
en  aqueou  plan  pays, 

"n'en  caussariou  les  paures 
n'  en  vestiriou  les  nuds." 

"Lou  fourie  far  quand  1'  y  eres 
mai  aro  1'  y  sies  plus." 

En  plourant  se  retonerno 

n'en  toumbo  dins  1'  infern. 

"Hai!  paure  iou!  sur  terro 

n'  en  ai  pas  proun  souffert, 


The  WicKed  Rich  Man  207 

"Give  me  the  little  crumbs,  then, 
That  are  scattered  on  the  ground." 

"The  little  crumbs  that  are  scattered, 
They  are  for  my  white  hound. " 

Within  a  fortnight  after, 

The  wicked  rich  man  died; 
He  beat  at  the  door  of  our  Lord  Christ, 

And  to  open  it  he  tried. 

Saint  John  says  to  Saint  Peter: 

"See  who  stands  and  cries." 
"It  is  the  wicked  rich  man; 

He  would  enter  Paradise. " 

"Go  ask  him  what  he  did  living, 

Below  in  his  own  country, — 
If  he  used  to  clothe  the  ragged, 

And  give  alms  in  charity. " 

"I  did  not  clothe  the  ragged, 

Nor  give  alms  in  charity ; 
But  if  I  might  return  there  once, 

Below,  to  my  own  country, 

"Oh,  I  would  clothe  the  naked, 
And  the  beggars  should  not  lack. " 

"  You  should  have  done  it  there  at  first, 
For  you  never  can  go  back." 

He  turned  him  away  then,  weeping. 

And  sank  to  the  depths  of  Hell ; 
"Oh,  on  the  earth  I  knew  no  pain! 

Poor  me!  I  lived  too  well! 


2o8  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  El^xirope 

"aviou  couissin  de  plumo, 

mataras  de  velours, 
aro  n'  en  ai  un  rouge 

que  brulo  nuech  et  jour." 

Arbaud,  Damase:  Chants  Populaires  de  la  Provence  (Aix, 
1862),  pp.  53-58.  Also  Briz  y  Salto;  Cansons  de  la  Terra, 
vol.  ii.,  pp.  240-241. 


LO   MAL  RICH 

Lo  mal  rich  s'  esta  en  finistra — passa  un  pobre  pelegri: 
li  diu  demanant  almoyna — si  es  que  '1  vol  afavorir. 

Jesus  y  Maria 
pregueu  per  mi! 

— D'  aquest  pa  que  deu  als  gossos — si  me  'n  desseu 

un  boci. 
— Mira  pobre  si  t'  hi  baixo — te'n  iaxh  fugir  d'  aqui, 
te  far^  abordar  pels  gossos — si  trigas  gayre  a  fugir." 
No  triga  r  espay  d'  una  hora — que  '1  pobret  ja  va 

morir. 
Truca  a  las  portas  del  Cel, — del  Cel  y  del  Paradis. 
Jesus  ne  diu  d  Sant  Pere: — "Pere,  mira  qui  hi  ha 

aqui. " 
— Ay,  Senyor!  n' es  aquell  pobre — que   '1  mal  rich 

deixa  morir. 


The  A^icKed  RicK  Man  209 

"I  had  pillows  all  of  feathers, 

On  a  velvet  couch  I  lay, 
But  now  I  shall  have  a  fire 

That  bums  by  night  and  day!" 


THE  WICKED  RICH  MAN  AND  THE  BEGGAR 

(Catalan) 

The  rich  man  looks  from  the  window; 

A  poor  pilgrim  passes  by ; 
For  alms  he  comes  a-begging. 
If  the  rich  will  have  charity. 
Jesus  and  Mary, 
Pray,  oh,  pray,  for  me! 

"For  two  whole  days  together, 

Not  a  crumb  to  eat  have  I. " 
"If  I  come  down,  you  beggar, 

I  wager  your  feet  will  fly ; 

"I  '11  make  you  leave  in  a  hurry; 

You  won't  wait  for  me  if  you  're  wise!" 
It  is  not  quite  an  hour 

Before  the  beggar  dies. 
He  knocks  at  the  gates  of  Heaven, 

Of  Heaven  and  Paradise. 

Then  Jesus  says  to  Saint  Peter: 
"See  who  comes  the  gates  to  try." 

"Ah,  Senor,  it  is  the  beggar 
That  the  rich  man  left  to  die." 


210  KolK-Dallads  of  SoutKern  fZ^virope 

— Obrali  las  portas,  Pere, — las  del  Cel  y  Paradis." 
No  triga  1'  espay  d'  una  hora — que  lo  mal  rich  va 

morir. 
Truca  d  las  portas  del  Cel, — del  Cel  y  del  Paradis. 
Jesus  ne  diu  ^  Sant  Pere: — "Pere,  mira  qui  hi  ha 

aqui." 
— Ay,  Senyor!  n' es  lo  mal  rich — qu' al  pobre  deixd 

morir. 
■ — Tancali  las  portas,  Pere, — las  del  Cel  y  Paradis, 
que  se'n  vaja  mes  avail — que  no  li  diran  que  no, 
eixiran  deu  mil  dimonis — que  '1  faran  patir  de  mort, 
malehira  pare  y  mare — y  qui  1'  ha  portat  al  mon, 
malehira  padri  y  padrina — y  qui   '1  ha  porta'  d  las 

fonts, 
Malehird  '1  capella — que  li  feu  la  creu  al  front, 
Malehira  I'escola — que  li  feu  Hum  ab  I'hatxo. 

Briz  y  Salto:  Cansons  de  la  Terra  (Barcelona,  1867),  vol.  ii., 
pp.  235-241. 


IL   FIGLIO   PRODIGO 

— Signuri  Patri, — io  mi  nni  voggh'jiri, 
Vogghiu  guriri — la  me  libirta. — 


TKe  Prodigal  Son  2ii 

"Oh,  open  the  gates  wide,  Peter, 

Of  Heaven  and  Paradise." 
It  is  not  quite  an  hour 

Before  the  rich  man  dies. 
He  knocks  at  the  gates  of  Heaven, 

Of  Heaven  and  Paradise. 

Then  Jesus  says  to  Saint  Peter: 
"See  who  comes  the  gates  to  try." 

"It  is  the  wicked  rich  man 
Who  let  the  beggar  die. " 

"Oh,  shut  the  gates  fast,  Peter, 

Of  Heaven  and  Paradise, 
And  let  him  go  below  there; 

They  will  not  say  him  nay; 
There  will  be  two  thousand  demons 

To  torture  him  night  and  day ; 

"He  will  curse  his  father  and  mother. 

Who  gave  him  life  and  limb, 
Godfather  and  godmother. 

To  the  font  who  carried  him ; 

"He  will  curse  the  priest  whose  fingers 

The  cross  on  his  forehead  signed ; 
He  will  curse  the  school  and  the  learning 

That  kindled  light  in  his  mind." 

THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

{Sicilian) 

"0  my  dear  father, 
Away  I  am  going, 
I  long  to  be  knowing 
The  joys  of  liberty." 


212  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  Hurope 

— O  Figghiu,  adunca — te'  li  rinari; 
'Ttenni  a  scialari — pi  t6  libirt^. 


Pensa  ogni  passu — a  raffrittu  'i  t6  patri, 
Pensa  a  to  matri — e  a  li  frati  to'. — 


Scinni  la  scala — cu  granni  primura, 
L'amici    lltira — si  trovanu  dd^. 


— Amici  mei, — alleghiramenti ! 
Manu  e  strumenti — 'i  rinari  su'  cc^. 


Prestu  accattamu — vinu  e  pastizzi ! — 
Vennu  li  sbrizzi: — 'rinari  'un  cc'^  cchiti. 


Li  beddi  amici — si  I'hannu  purtatu, 
L'hannu  spurpatu — 'nta  chidda  cit^. 


Quannu  l'amici — lu  vittiru  nuru, 
Lu  lassaru  sulu —  'nta  chidda  cit^. 


— Amici  mei, — pirchi  mi  lassati? 
M'abbannunati — pirchi  'un  aju  cchiu! 


TKe  Prodigal  Son  213 

"Son,  take  thy  money, 
Take  it  and  squander ; 
Where  thou  wilt,  wander; 
Have  thy  liberty. 

"At  each  step  remember 
The  grief  of  thy  mother, 
The  love  of  thy  brother. 
And  thy  father's  care." 
He  went  down  the  staircase. 
Went  hurrying  madly, 
Where  his  comrades  all  gladly 
Waited  him  there. 

"O  my  good  fellows. 
Here  's  plenty  of  money; 
We  '11  have  wine  and  honey, 
And  music  till  dawn. 
Set  hands  to  the  lute  here, 
We  11  sing  and  drink  faster!" 
But  soon  comes  disaster. 
The  money  is  gone ! 

Oh  when  his  brave  comrades 
His  money  had  wasted, 
To  see  how  they  hasted 
Away  from  the  place ! 
They  left  him  all  naked, 

These  friends  of  fair  weather, 
They  hurried  together. 
Left  him  in  disgrace. 
"O  my  friends,  my  good  fellows, 
How  can  you  hurt  me? 
Do  not  desert  me 

In  this  lonely  place!" 


214  FolK-Ballads  of  SoutHem  Elxjirope 

Lu  lucanneri — p'esseri  aggiustatu 
Gia  I'ha  spugghiatu — cu  crurilit^; 


E  di  la  scala — dipoi  lu  sdirrupa, 
Pigghia  la  scupa, — rammutta  di  dd^. 


— Signuri  patnini, — vuliti  un  garzoni, 
Cci  rati  'na  gnuni ; — adduari  si  v6 ; 


Un  tozzu  di  pani — un  giru  di  casa, 
Ca  iddu'un  s'arrasa: — cuntenti  si  st^. 


— Guardari  hai  li-porci — agghianni  ha'  a  manciari. 
Si  cu  mia  stari, — figghiuzzu  v6'  tu. — 


Supra 'na  petra — si  misi  a  pinsari, 
A  larimari — un  figghiu  di  R^! 


E  lu  ricia — cu  chiantu  ruttu: 

— A  ch'd  ridduttu — un  figghiu  di  R6! 


Aju  un  patruzzu — ch'^  tantu  binignu, 
Ca'un  sugnu  dignu, — 'un  lu  meritu  cchiii! 


The  Prodigal  Son  215 

There  came  the  innkeeper : 
Accounts  must  be  reckoned 
In  this  very  second 
For  these  great  affairs ; 
Angry  and  cruel, 

He  strode  from  the  room  then, 
And  seizing  the  broom  then. 
Swept  the  boy  downstairs. 
****** 
"O  my  good  master, 
I  have  not  a  shilling. 
Now  would  you  be  willing 
To  hire  me  to-day? 
For  dry  bread  and  water 
I  '11  wait  at  the  house  here; 
As  still  as  a  mouse  here, 
Contented  I  '11  stay." 

"Stay  then,  my  fine  boy, 
The  swine  you  '11  be  minding. 
And  hard  fare  be  finding. 
Winter  and  spring." 
His  tears  they  were  faUing, 
And  on  a  stone  sinking. 
He  set  him  to  thinking — 
The  son  of  a  king! 
He  said  to  himself  there: 
"What  life  thou  art  leading, 
These  swine  to  be  feeding. 
Thou,  son  of  a  king ! 

"I  have  a  dear  father. 
So  gentle  and  kindly; 
I  left  him  so  blindly. 
Deserve  him  no  more! 


2i6  rolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  E.\irope 

Siddu  cci  vaju, — mi  vastunia, 

E  mi  castia; — nun  cci  vaju  cchiu! — 


Pi  ghiri  a  biriri — so  patri  divinu, 
Si  misi  'n  caminu — cu  gran  piat^. 


Lu  patri  misu — a  lu  barcimi 

Misu  appujtmi. — M^  figghiu  unn'd? 


So  patri  misu — cu  'u  so  ucchialinu : 

— Figghiu  mischinu, — 'un  cci  spunti  cchiu! 


Ea  s'^  m^  figghiu — chissu  ca  veni! — 
Chissu  ca  veni — 'un  si  canusci  cchiu! 


Quannu  lu  vitti — allura  spimtari 
Si  misi  a  grirari — di  ccd,  e  di  dd4: 


— Amici  mei, — me'  sirvienti, 
Alleramenti : — me  figghiu  e  cc^! 


TKe  Prodigal  Son  217 

If  I  should  go  to  him, 
Perhaps  he  will  beat  me, 
Or  angrily  meet  me, — 
I  '11  go  there  no  more!" 

Yet  to  see  his  dear  father. 
Homeward  returning 
With  sorrow  and  yearning 
He  starts  out  to  run. 


The  father  is  sitting 

In  his  terrace  off  yonder, 
To  sigh  and  to  wonder: 
"Where  is  my  son?" 

The  father  is  watching. 
With  a  glass  he  is  spying: 
"  Let  him  thrive  or  be  dying, 
He  comes  here  no  more! 
If  that  were  he  running. 
If  he  came  to  ask  pardon. 
This  old  heart  I  'd  harden, 
And  show  him  the  door!" 

The  father  has  seen  him 
Far  off  appearing. 
He  watches  him  nearing, 
Shouts  hither  and  yon: 
"Look  forth,  O  my  friends,  now! 
My  people !  My  pages ! 
Be  quick,  earn  your  wages! 
This  is  my  son ! 


2i8  FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitHern  Europe 

Prestu  jttamu — ssi  'mbrogghi  fitenti. 
Su'  puzzulenti — pi  un  figghiu  di  R^ ; 
Facemu  un  bagnu — priziusu  e  finu, 
Ch'^  sangu  divinu, — che  figghiu  di  Re! — 

PiTRi;,  G.:    Canti  Popolari  Siciliani  (Paiermo,  1871),  vol.  ii., 
PP-  340-343- 


S.  JAUME  DE  GALICIA 

N'  era  un  pare  y  una  mare 

y  un  fill  qu  'ell  dos  tenian, 
feren  una  prometensa 

d  sant  Jaume  de  Galicia 
d'  anarhi  gayato  en  ma 

y  rosaris  a  la  cinta. 
Quan  foren  un  poquet  Uuny 

un  poquet  lluny  de  la  vila 
encontaren  un  hostal 

que  hi  havia  una  fadrina. 
La  fadrina  del  hostal 

dihuen  que  n'  era  atrevida. 
Diu  la  fadrina  al  romeu : 

"Dom  un  bes  per  cortesia." 
"No  'u  mana  la  lley  de  Deu, 

ni  sant  Jaume  de  Galicia. " 
La  fadrina  del  hostal 

va  dir  que  s'  en  venjaria. 
N'  agafa  una  tassa  d'  or 

ab  que  '1  seu  oncle  bevia 


Saint  James  of  Galicia  219 

"  Make  haste  to  strip  from  him 
All  this  vile  clothing, 
It  fills  me  with  loathing, — 
The  son  of  a  king! 
Now  make  his  bath  ready. 
And  rich  garments  worthy 
Of  his  noble  birth, — he 
Is  son  of  a  king!" 

SAINT  JAMES   OF   GALICIA 

{Catala7i) 

A  father  and  a  mother, 

And  with  them  their  young  son. 
To  Saint  James  of  Galicia 

On  pilgrimage  are  gone, 

With  rosaries  at  girdle, 

And  pilgrim  staffs  in  hand; 
A  short  way  from  the  city 

They  see  a  tavern  stand ; 

And  watching  for  their  coming, 

The  damsel  of  the  place 
Speaks  to  the  boy  pilgrim : 

"A  kiss,  sir,  of  your  grace." 

"Nay,  by  Saint  James,  and  by  God's  law," 

The  pilgrim  answered  sage, 
"He  must  not  kiss  a  maiden, 

Who  goes  on  pilgrimage. " 

The  damsel  of  the  tavern 

Straightway  on  vengeance  thinks; 
She  takes  the  golden  goblet 

From  which  her  uncle  drinks. 


220  FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKern  flvirope 

y  la  fica  a  lo  sarro 

mentre  '1  pelegri  dormia. 
Quan  es  hora  de  dinar 

la  tassa  d'  or  no  hi  ha  via. 
En  sent  hora  de  sopar 

la  tassa  d'  or  no 's  tenia. 
La  fadrina  del  hostal 

diu  que  '1  fadri  la  tenia. 
"Si  jo  tinch  la  tassa  d'  or 

que  'm  penjin  al  mateix  dia.  '* 


Li  registran  lo  sarr6 

y  la  tassa  d  'or  hi  havia. 
La  justicia  rigurosa 

lo  va  penjd  al  mateix  dia. 
Pero  son  pare  y  sa  mare 

no  deixan  de  fer  sa  via. 
Quan  ne  son  d  la  tornada 

lo  seu  fill  veure  volian. 
Diu  la  romera  al  romeu : 

"Jo  per  alli  hi  passaria." 
"No  passeu  per 'Hi  miiller 

que  '1  dolor  vos  revindria. 
"Reveni'6  no  reveni', 

resar^  un'  Ave  Maria." 


Saint  James  of  Galicia  221 

The  precious  golden  goblet 

That  for  himself  he  keeps ; 
She  hides  it  in  the  wallet, 

While  the  young  pilgrim  sleeps. 

When  comes  the  hour  for  dinner, 

They  nowhere  find  the  cup ; 
They  search  for  it  all  vainly, 

When  comes  the  hour  to  sup. 

Says  the  damsel:  "That  young  pilgrim 

Has  stolen  the  cup  away." 
"If  I  have  stolen  your  golden  cup. 

Hang  me  this  very  day!" 

Now  they  have  searched  the  wallet, 

And  found  the  cup  of  gold ; 
The  Justice  of  the  city 

He  is  severe  and  old. 

He  has  bidden  them  hang  the  pilgrim 

Upon  that  very  day. 
The  father  and  the  mother 

Go  sadly  on  their  way. 

But  when  they  are  returning. 

The  mother  needs  must  see 
Her  boy's  body  where  it  hangs 

Upon  the  gallows  tree. 

"Oh,  go  not  that  way,  woman, 

Thy  grief  will  come  again." 
"  Let  it  come  or  not  come,  I  will  go 

And  whisper  Aves  twain." 


222   FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  E-xirope 

Aixis  qu'  ella  se  hi  costa 

veu  que  '1  seu  fill  se  movia. 
"Com  ets  viu  lo  meu  fillet 

com  ets  viu  ab  tants  de  dias?" 
"No  tinch  d'  esser  viu  ma  mare 

ab  tan  bona  company ia? 
Sant  Jaume  me  th  pels  peus 

y  la  Verge  per  la  cinta, 
y  lo  cap  lo  Esperit  sant 

que  il-lumina  nit  y  dia. " 
Andusen  d  cal  Veguer, 

d  cal  Veguer  de  la  vila ; 
trobar^u  que  estd  dinant 

menjantse  gall  y  gallina, 
quan  arribar^u  alii 

li  dir^u  ab  cortesia: 
"D^u  lo  guart  senyor  Veguer 

d  voste  y  la  companyia. 
Vaja  a  despenja  '1  meu  fill 

qu'  'encara  esta  pl^  de  vida.  ** 
"Fugiu  d'  aqui  dona  boja 

no'm  digau  tal  bojeria 
que  tan  es  viu  vostre  fill 

com  aquest  gall  y  gallina." 
Lo  gall  se  posa  a  canta', 

la  gallina  al  plat  ponia. 
Aix6  es  miracle  del  eel 

miracle  que  Deu  en  via. 
Despenjaren  d  1'  infant 

y  penjaren  la  fadrina. 

Briz  y  Candi:    Cansons  de  la  Terra  (Barcelona,  i866),  vol.  i. 
pp.  67-74- 


Saint  James  of  Galicia  223 

Now  when  the  pilgrims  reach  the  place, 

Oh,  wonderfiil  to  see! 
The  boy's  body  stirs  with  life 

Upon  the  gallows  tree. 

"How  comes  it,  0  my  son,  my  son! 

That  still  thou  art  alive?" 
"  Mother,  in  such  good  company. 

Well  may  I  live  and  thrive. 

"The  Virgin  holds  my  body's  weight. 

Saint  James  my  feet,"  he  said; 
"The  Holy  Ghost,  by  night  and  day, 

Is  holding  up  my  head." 

Father  and  mother  go  in  haste 

To  seek  the  mayor  then ; 
They  find  him  sitting  down  to  dine 

Upon  a  cock  and  hen. 

"God  save  thee.  Master  Mayor, 

And  all  thy  company! 
Take  down  my  son  who  is  alive 

Upon  the  gallows  tree." 

"Away,  you  crazy  woman!" 

The  mayor  shouted  then: 
"Your  boy  is  as  much  alive 

As  are  this  cock  and  hen!" 

And  straight  the  hen  has  laid  an  egg, 

The  cock  he  is  a-crowing! 
A  blessed  miracle  it  is, 

Of  God  Almighty's  showing. 

To  take  the  boy  pilgrim  down 

The  mayor  hurried ; 
But  the  damsel  of  the  tavern 

They  hanged  her  in  his  stead. 


Ballads  of  the  Supernatural 


IS  225 


LO   COMPTE   ARNAU 

La  comptesa  estd  sentada 

viudeta  igual! 
La  comptesa  estd  sentada 

al  seu  palau. 

Se  li  presenta  d  la  cambra 

vdlgam  D^u  val! 
Se  li  presenta  d  la  cambra 

lo  compte  Amau. 

Tot  cobert  de  rojas  flamas 

ay  quin  espant! 
Tot  cobert  de  rojas  flamas 
valgam  Ddu  val! 

"Per  hont  heu  entrat  vos  ara 

compte  r  Amau? 
Per  hont  heu  entrat  vos  ara? 

vdlgam  D^u  val!" 
"Per  la  finestra  enreixada 

muUer  leal, 
per  la  finestra  enreixada 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Tota  me  1'  haureu  cremada 

compte  r  Amau, 
tota  me  1'  haureu  cremada 

valgam  D^u  val!" 
226 


COUNT  ARNOLD 

(Ca/alan) 

The  Lady  Countess  she  is  sitting, — 

Woman  most  true! 
She  is  sitting  in  her  palace, 

All  the  night  through. 

There  has  come  into  her  chamber, — 

Help,  God  of  might! 
There  has  come  into  her  chamber 

Arnold,  her  knight. 

With  red  flames  all  covered  over — 

Oh,  fearful  sight! 
With  red  flames  all  covered  over — 

Help,  God  of  might! 

"How  did  you  enter  at  this  hour, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
How  did  you  enter  at  this  hoiir? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"I  entered  at  the  grated  window, 

Woman  most  true; 
I  entered  at  the  grated  window; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"You  are  scorching  me  all  over, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
You  are  scorching  me  all  over; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 
227 


228  FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  Europe 

"Tan  sols  no  'us  la  he  tocada 

muller  leal, 
tan  sols  no  'us  la  he  tocada 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Qu'  es  aixo  que  'us  surt  del  cap 

compte  r  Arnau? 
Qu'  es  aixo  que  'us  surt  del  cap? 

vdlgam  D^u  val!" 
"Malas  cosas  qu'  he  pensadas 

muller  leal, 
malas  cosas  qu'  he  pensadas 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Qu'  es  aixo  que  'us  surt  p^ls  ulls 

compte  r  Arnau? 
Qu'  es  aixo  que 'us  surt  pels  ulls? 

valgam  Deu  val!" 
"Son  las  malas  llambregadas 

muller  leal, 
son  las  malas  llambregadas 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Qu'  es  aixo  que 'us  ix  pM  nas 

compte  r  Arnau? 
Qu'  es  aixo  que  'us  ix  pM  nas? 

valgam  Deu  val!" 
"Son  las  cosas  qu'  he  oloradas 

muller  leal, 
son  las  cosas  qu'  he  oloradas 

viudeta  igual!" 


Covint  Arnold  229 

"But  I  have  not  even  touched  you, 

Woman  most  true ; 
But  I  have  not  even  touched  you; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"What  is  that  flames  from  your  forehead, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
What  is  that  flames  from  your  forehead? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"All  the  evil  things  I  thought  once, 

Woman  most  true; 
All  the  evil  things  I  thought  once; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"What  is  flashing  from  your  eyeballs, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
What  is  flashing  from  your  eyeballs? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Those  are  my  own  evil  passions, 

Woman  most  true; 
Those  are  my  own  evil  passions; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"What  is  it  flames  from  your  nostrils, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
What  is  it  flames  from  your  nostrils? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Evil  things  that  I  was  smelling, 

Woman  most  true; 
Evil  things  that  I  was  smelling; 

Loyal  are  you." 


230  FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  E-varope 

"Qu'  es  lo  que  'us  ix  per  la  boca 

compte  r  Arnau? 
Qu'  es  lo  que  'us  ix  per  la  boca? 

vdlgam  Deu  val!" 
"Son  las  malas  parauladas 

muller  leal, 
son  las  malas  parauladas 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Qu6  vos  ix  per  las  orellas 

compte  r  Amau? 
Qn6  vos  ix  per  las  orellas? 

valgam  Ddu  val!" 
"Malas  cosas  qu'  he  escoltadas 

muller  leal, 
malas  cosas  qu'  he  escoltadas 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Qu'  es  aixo  que 'us  ix  p^ls  brasses 

compte  r  Arnau? 
Qu'  es  aix6  que  'us  ix  p^ls  brasses? 

valgam  Deu  val!" 
"Son  las  malas  abrassadas 

muller  leal, 
son  las  malas  abrassadas 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Qn6  es  lo  que 'us  ix  per  las  mans 

compte  r  Amau? 
Qu^  es  lo  que  'us  ix  per  las  mans? 

vdlgam  Ddu  val!" 


Covint  Arnold  231 

"What  is  it  from  your  mouth  blazing, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
What  is  it  from  your  mouth  blazing? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Evil  words  that  I  have  spoken. 

Woman  most  true ; 
Evil  words  that  I  have  spoken ; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"  What  is  it  from  your  ears  burning, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
What  is  it  from  your  ears  burning? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Evil  things  to  which  I  listened. 

Woman  most  true; 
Evil  things  to  which  I  listened; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"What  is  it  from  your  arms  flaming, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
What  is  it  from  your  arms  flaming? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"These  are  all  my  vile  embraces, 

Woman  most  true; 
These  are  all  my  vile  embraces ; 

Loyal  are  you.  '* 

"What  is  this  on  your  hands  burning, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
What  is  this  on  your  hands  burning? 
Help,  God  of  might!" 


232  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  E,virope 

"Malas  cosas  qu'  he  tocadas 

muller  leal, 
malas  cosas  qu'  he  tocadas 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Qu'  es  aixo  que 'us  surt  p^ls  peus 

compte  r  Arnau? 
Qu'  es  aix6  que  'us  surt  p^ls  peus? 

valgam  D^u  val!" 
"Son  las  malas  trepitjadas 

muller  leal, 
son  las  malas  trepitjadas 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Qu'  es  aquest  soroll  que  sento 

compte  r  Arnau? 
Qu'  es  aquest  soroll  que  sento? 

vdlgam  Deu  val!" 
"Es  lo  cavall  que  m'  espera 

muller  leal, 
es  lo  cavall  que  m'  espera 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Baixduli  '1  gra  y  la  civada 

compte  r  Arnau, 
baix^uli  '1  gra  y  la  civada 

valgam  D^u  val!" 
"No  menja  gra  ni  civada 

muller  leal, 
sin6  dnimas  condempnadas 

viudeta  igual!" 


Covint  Arnold  233 

"Evil  things  that  I  was  touching, 

Woman  most  true; 
Evil  things  that  I  was  touching ; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"What  is  it  from  your  feet  flaming, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
What  is  it  from  your  feet  flaming? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Evil  steps  that  I  have  taken, 

Woman  most  true; 
Evil  steps  that  I  have  taken ; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"Why  do  I  hear  the  sound  of  neighing, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
Why  do  I  hear  the  sound  of  neighing? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"  'T  is  the  horse  for  me  a-waiting, 

Woman  most  true; 
'T  is  the  horse  for  me  a-waiting ; 

Loyal  are  you. " 

"Give  him  hay  and  grain  for  fodder, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
Give  him  hay  and  grain  for  fodder; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"He  will  eat  no  grain  for  fodder, 

Woman  most  true; 
Only  spirits  of  the  damnM ; 

Loyal  are  you." 


234  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKem  E-virope 

"Ahont  vos  han  donat  posada 

compte  r  Arnau? 
Ahont  vos  han  donat  posada? 

valgam  Deu  val!" 
"Al  infem  me  1'  han  donada 

muller  leal, 
al  infern  me  1'  han  donada 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Perqu^  alii 'us  la  han  donada 

compte  r  Arnau? 
Perqu^  alii  'us  la  han  donada 

vdlgam  D^u  val!" 
"Per  pagar  mal  las  soldadas 

muller  leal, 
per  pagar  mal  las  soldadas 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Cada  dia  'us  faig  la  oferta 

compte  r  Arnau, 
cada  dia  'us  faig  la  oferta 

valgam  D^u  val!" 
"Vos  dich  no  'm  feu  pas  la  oferta, 

muller  leal, 
que  com  mes  me  feu  la  oferta 

mes  pena  'm  dau. 


"Tota  sola  feu  la  vetlla 

muller  leal? 
Tota  sola  feu  la  vetlla, 

viudeta  igual?" 


Covint  -A.rnold  235 

"Where  now  have  they  made  your  lodging, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
Where  now  have  they  made  your  dwelling? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Deep  in  Hell  they  made  my  dwelling, 

Woman  most  true; 
Deep  in  Hell  they  made  my  dwelling; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"Why  should  it  in  Hell  be  builded, 

Arnold,  my  knight? 
Why  should  it  in  Hell  be  builded? 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"  'T  is  because  I  paid  bad  wages, 

Woman  most  true; 
'Tis  because  I  paid  bad  wages; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"Every  day  I  offer  masses, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
Every  day  I  offer  masses; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Offer  for  me  no  more  masses, 

Never  again ! 
Masses  offered  for  the  damned 

Bring  them  more  pain." 


"  All  alone  do  you  keep  vigil, 
Woman  most  true? 

All  alone  do  you  keep  vigil? 
Loyal  are  you." 


236  FolK-Ballads  of  SoutHem  Hvirope 

"No  la  faig  jo  tota  sola, 

compte  r  Arnau, 
no  la  faig  jo  tota  sola 

valgam  Deu  val!" 
"Qui  teniu  per  companyia 

mtdler  leal? 
Qm  teniu  per  companyia 

viudeta  igual?" 
"  D^u  y  la  Verge  Maria 

compte  r  Arnau, 
D^u  y  la  Verge  Maria 

valgam  Deu  val!" 
"Ahont  teniu  las  vostras  fillas 

muller  leal? 
Ahont  teniu  las  vostras  fillas 

viudeta  igual?" 
"A  la  cambra  son  que  brodan 

compte  r  Arnau, 
a  la  cambra  son  que  brodan 

seda  y  estam." 
"Me  las  deixariau  veure 

muller  leal? 
Me  las  deixariau  veure 

viudeta  igual?" 
"  Massa  las  espantariau 

compte  r  Arnau, 
massa  las  espantariau 

vdlgam  Ddu  val!" 


Count  Arnold  237 

"Not  alone  do  I  keep  vigil, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
Not  alone  do  I  keep  vigil; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Tell  me,  who  are  your  companions. 

Woman  most  true? 
Tell  me,  who  are  your  companions? 

Loyal  are  you." 

"I  have  God  and  Mary  Virgin, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
I  have  God  and  Mary  Virgin ; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Tell  me  where  you  keep  your  daughters, 

Woman  most  true; 
Tell  me  where  you  keep  your  daughters. 

Loyal  are  you." 

"They  embroider  in  their  chamber, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
They  embroider  in  their  chamber 

Silk  and  samite." 

"Oh,  I  pray  you,  let  me  see  them, 

Woman  most  true! 
Oh,  I  pray  you  let  me  see  them ! 
Loyal  are  you. " 

"Far  too  much  you  would  affright  them, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
Far  too  much  you  would  affright  them; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 


238  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  Hurope 

"  Deixdume  'n  endii  una  filla 

muller  leal, 
que  ab  mi  passard  las  penas 

qu'  estich  passant." 
"  Aixis  com  las  heu  guanyadas 

vdlgam  D^u  val! 
tot  sol  com  pogu^u  passdulas 

compte  r  Amau." 
"Solament  la  mes  xiqueta 

muller  leal, 
solament  la  mes  xiqueta 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Tant  m'  estimo  la  mes  xica 

compte  r  Arnau, 
tant  m'  estimo  la  mes  xica 

com  la  mes  gran. " 
"  Per  que  no  caseu  las  fillas 

muller  leal? 
Per  qu^  no  cas^u  las  fillas 

viudeta  igual?" 
"  Perque  no  tinch  dot  per  darlas 

compte  r  Arnau, 
perqu^  no  tinch  dot  per  darlas 

val  gam  Ddu  val!" 
"Al  cap  d'  avail  de  la  escala 

mtiller  leal, 
al  cap  d'  avail  de  la  escala 

ne  hi  ha  1'  arjant." 


Covint  -A-rnold  239 

"Let  me  see  at  least  one  daughter, 

Woman  most  strong, 
That  my  torture  may  pass  from  me; 

I  suffer  long!" 

"Even  as  you  earned  your  tortures — 

Help,  God  of  might! 
Even  so  they  must  pass  from  you, 

Arnold,  my  knight!" 

"Only  let  me  see  the  youngest. 

Woman  most  true; 
Only  let  me  see  the  youngest ; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"Nay,  I  prize  my  youngest  daughter, 

Arnold,  my  knight, 
Even  as  I  prize  the  eldest; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Why  do  you  not  wed  your  daughters. 

Woman  most  true? 
Why  do  you  not  wed  your  daughters? 

Loyal  are  you." 

"  'T  is  because  they  have  no  dowry, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
'T  is  because  they  have  no  dowry ; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"At  the  foot  of  the  great  staircase, 

Woman  most  true, 
At  the  foot  of  the  great  staircase 

Lies  gold  for  you." 


240 


FolK-Dallads  of  SovitKern  E,\irope 

"Son  monedas  malguanyadas 

valgam  D^u  val ! 
Son  monedas  malguanyadas 

compte  r  Arnau." 
"Ahont  teniu  los  vostres  fills 

muUer  leal? 
Ahont  teniu  los  vostres  fills 

viudeta  igual?" 
"A  la  cambra  son  que  jugan 

valgam  Deu  val! 
A  la  cambra  son  que  jugan 

compte  r  Arnau." 
"Ahont  teniu  las  vostras  criadas 

muUer  leal? 
Ahont  teniu  las  vostras  criadas 

viudeta  igual?" 
"A  la  cuyna  son  que  rentan 

compte  r  Arnau, 
a  la  cuyna  son  que  rentan 

plata  y  estany." 
"  Me  las  deixariau  veure 

muller  leal? 
Me  las  deixariau  veure 

viudeta  igual?" 
"  Massa  las  espantariau 

compte  r  Arnau, 
massa  las  espantariau 
valgam  D^u  vall" 


Count  Arnold  241 

"All  of  it  is  gold  ill-gotten, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
All  of  it  is  gold  ill-gotten ; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Where  have  you  your  sons  in  keeping, 

Woman  most  true? 
Where  have  you  your  sons  in  keeping? 

Loyal  are  you." 

"They  are  in  their  chamber,  gaming, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
They  are  in  their  chamber,  gaming; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Tell  me  where  you  keep  your  maidens, 

Woman  most  true; 
Tell  me  where  you  keep  your  maidens; 

Loyal  are  you." 

"They  are  in  the  kitchen,  washing 

Early  and  late; 
They  are  in  the  kitchen,  washing 

Pewter  and  plate." 

"Oh,  I  pray  you  let  me  see  them, 

Woman  most  true; 
Oh,  I  pray  you  let  me  see  them; 

Loyal  are  you. " 

"Far  too  much  you  would  affright  them, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
Far  too  much  you  would  affright  them; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 


242  FolK-Dallads  of  SoutHern  Hurope 

"Ahont  teniu  los  vostros  mossos 

muller  leal? 
Ahont  teniu  los  vostros  mossos 

viudeta  igual?" 
"A  la  pallissa  que  dorman 

compte  r  Arnau, 
a  la  pallissa  que  dorman 

vdlgam  Deu  val!" 
"Pagu^ulos  be  la  soldada 

muller  leal, 
pagu6ulos  be  la  soldada 

viudeta  igual!" 
"Aixis  que  1'  haurdn  guanyada 

compte  r  Arnau, 
aixis  que  1'  haurdn  guanyada, 

vdlgam  D^u  val!" 
"Quina  hora  es  que  '1  gall  ja  canta 

muller  leal? 
Quina  hora  es  que  '1  gall  ja  canta 

viudeta  igual?" 
"  Las  dotz'  horas  son  tocadas 

compte  r  Arnau, 
las  dotz'  horas  son  tocadas 

vdlgam  D^u  val!" 
"Ara  per  la  despedida 

muller  leal, 
ara  per  la  despedida 

d6mnos  las  mans." 
"Massa  me  las  cremariau 

compte  r  Arnau, 
massa  me  las  cremariau 

vdlgam  D^u  val!" 
Briz  y  Candi:  Cansons  de  la  Terra  (Barcelona,  i866),  vol.  i., 
pp.  49-58. 


Covint  -Arnold  243 

"Tell  me  where  you  keep  your  pages, 

Woman  most  true; 
Tell  me  where  you  keep  your  pages; 

Loyal  are  you." 
"They  are  in  the  stables  sleeping, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
They  are  in  the  stables  sleeping; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"Pay  them  well  all  of  their  wages. 

Woman  most  true; 
Pay  them  well  all  of  their  wages; 

Loyal  are  you. " 

"I  will  pay  them  when  they  earn  them, 

Arnold,  my  knight; 
I  will  pay  them  as  they  earn  them ; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"The  cock  crows;  what  is  the  hour, 

Woman  most  true? 
The  cock  crows;  what  is  the  hour? 

Loyal  are  you. " 
"Twelve  o'clock  but  now  has  soimded, 

Arnold,  my  knight ; 
Twelve  o'clock  but  now  has  sounded; 

Help,  God  of  might!" 

"It  is  the  hour  for  our  parting; 

So  must  it  be. 
It  is  the  hour  for  our  parting; 

Clasp  hands  with  me!" 

"How  your  hands  are  scorching  my  hands, 

Arnold,  my  knight! 
How  your  hands  are  scorching  my  hands! 
Help,  God  of  might!" 


244  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  Europe 

LE   CHANT   DU   DAMNE 

Le  mauvais  riche  vient  a  mourir, 
Sa  femme  va  prier  sur  sa  tombe. 
"Mon  Dieu!  rendez-moi  mon  mari, 
C'est  de  bon  coeur  que  je  le  dis!" 

"Ma  pauvre  femme,  reviens  demain, 
Reviens  domains  k  la  meme  heure, 
Tu  trouveras  un  feu  ardent 
Et  ton  mari  sera  dedans." 

"Mon  mari,  si  vous  6tes  1^, 
Dites-le  moi,  je  vous  en  prie. " 
"Oh  oui!  ma  femme  la  je  suis, 
Pour  toi,  pour  moi  me  faut  souffrir. 

"Ma  femme  t'en  souviens  tu  pas 

De  la  mesure  qu'il  y  a  dans  la  grange? 

Si  tu  ne  la  fais  pas  regler 

Dans  les  enfers  tu  viendras  brfiler. 

"Ma  femme  t'en  souviens  tu  pas 
Des  pauvres  qui  venaient  a  la  porte? 
Au  lieu  de  leur  avoir  donn^, 
Les  avons  toujours  rebutes. 

"  Ma  femme  t'en  souviens  tu  pas 
Des  livres  qu'il  y  a  dans  ma  chambre  ? 
Si  tu  les  as  pas  plus  lus  que  moi 
Dans  les  enfers  tu  br^leras. 

"  Ma  femme  t'en  souviens  tu  pas 
Du  premier  jotir  de  notre  noces? 
Le  premier  jour  des  ribotes 
Nous  I'avons  pas  encore  pay6. 


TKe  Son^  of  tHe  l^ost  Sovil         245 

THE   SONG   OF   THE   LOST  SOUL 

{French) 

The  wicked  rich  man  he  is  dead, 

His  wife  goes  to  his  tomb  to  pray: 
"O  my  God,  give  my  husband  back, 

With  all  my  heart  I  beg  to-day. " 

"O  my  poor  woman,  come  again, 

To-morrow  at  this  hour  return ; 
You  will  find  then  a  glowing  fire, 

And  in  it  will  your  husband  bum." 

"  0  my  poor  husband,  if  you  're  there, 

I  pray  you  speak  to  me  again. " 
"Oh  yes,  my  wife,  yes,  I  am  here! 

For  you  and  me  I  bear  this  pain. 

"Do  you  remember,  O  my  wife. 

That  measure  in  the  grange,  now  tell? 

You  must  have  it  made  to  measure  true, 
Or  you  will  surely  bum  in  Hell. 

"The  beggars,  O  my  wife,  that  came 

To  our  house  door,  do  you  recall? 
Instead  of  giving  alms  to  them. 

How  you  and  I  refused  them  all? 

"Do  you  remember,  O  my  wife, 
The  books  that  in  my  chamber  lie? 

You  will  surely  come  to  bum  in  Hell, 
Unless  you  read  them  more  than  L 

"Do  you  remember,  O  my  wife. 
The  feasting  on  our  wedding-day? 

For  all  those  days  of  festival, 
O  wife,  there  is  the  bill  to  pay. 


246  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  Hurope 

"Ma  femme  t'en  souviens  tu  pas 
Des  bagues  d'or  que  je  t'ai  donn^es? 
Les  bagues  d'or  que  je  t'ai  donnas 
Je  les  dois  encore  aux  orfevriers. 

"Ma  femme  t'en  souviens  tu  pas 
Des  beaux  souliers  que  je  t'ai  donn^es? 
Les  beaux  souliers  que  je  t'ai  donnds 
Je  les  dois  encore  au  cordonnier. 

"Ma  femme  t'en  souviens  tu  pas 
Des  beaux  habits  que  je  t'ai  donn^es? 
Les  beaux  habits  que  je  t'ai  donn6s 
Les  marchands  n'en  sont  pas  pay^s. 

"Adieu,  ma  pauvre  femme,  adieu, 
Je  m'en  vais  dans  im  pays  etrange. 
Adieu  pour  toute  I'^temit^, 
Adieu'  pour  toujours  je  suis  damn^." 

Smith,  Victor:    Chants  de  Pauvres,  Romania   (Paris,  1873), 
vol.  ii.,  p.  456. 


AR  VINOREZIK  A   DRAON   AL   LANN 

Ar  vinorezik,  'draon  al  lann, 
'Deuz  glac'har  da  varo  hi  mam ; 

Medi  noz-dez  o  estlami, 
Hi  c'hovezour  'n  deuz  poan  gant-hi. 
******* 

P'oa  war  bez  hi  mamm  'n  orezon, 
'Klewaz  ann  anter-noz  o  soon; 

Klewaz  ann  anter-noz  o  soon; 
Erru  koulz  ar  prosession. 


The  Girl  and  Her  Mother's  Sovil    247 

"Have  you  forgotten,  0  my  wife, 

The  jewels  of  gold  do  you  forget? 
For  the  jewels  of  gold  I  gave  to  you, 

I  have  not  paid  the  goldsmith  yet. 

"Have  you  forgotten,  O  my  wife, 

Your  pretty  shoes  do  you  forget? 
For  the  pretty  shoes  I  gave  to  you, 

The  shoemaker  is  not  paid  yet. 

"Do  you  remember,  O  my  wife, 
Your  pretty  clothes,  do  you  forget? 

For  the  pretty  clothes  I  gave  to  you, 
I  have  not  paid  the  merchants  yet. 

"Farewell,  O  my  poor  wife,  farewell! 

I  go  to  a  strange  land,  farewell! 
Farewell  for  all  eternity. 

Farewell,  for  I  am  damned  in  Hell. " 


THE  YOUNG  GIRL  AND  HER  MOTHER'S  SOUL 

(Breton) 

A  maiden  of  the  countryside 
Is  mourning  since  her  mother  died; 
She  grieves  all  night  and  all  the  day ; 
The  good  priest  knows  not  what  to  say. 

As  she  is  at  the  tomb  praying, 
She  hears  the  bells  of  midnight  ring ; 
She  hears  the  bells  of  midnight  ring, 
The  hour  when  spirits  are  walking. 


248  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitHern  E.\jrope 

Erru  ez  int  en  ter  vandenn, 
Re  du  ha  re  c'hriz  ha  re  wenn. 

'N  touez  ar  re  du  a  well  hi  mamm, 
O  Doue,  pebeuz  da  estlamm! 

Deiz  warlerc'h  da  noz  'z  ia  'darre 
War  bez  hi  mamm  d'bedi  Doue. 

P'oa  war  ar  bez  en  orezon, 
'KUewaz  ann  anter-noz  o  soon; 

'IQewaz  ann  anter-noz  o  soon, 
Erru  oa  koulz  'r  prosession. 

Emi  int  e-tre  ter  vandenn, 
Re  du  ha  re  c'hriz  ha  re  wenn. 

'N  touez  ar  re-c'hriz  a  well  hi  mamm, 
Na  doa  ket  kement  a  estlamm. 

Deiz  warlerc'h  'noz  ez  ia  'darre 
War  bez  hi  mamm  d'bedi  Doue. 

Pa  oa  war  ar  bez,  'n  orezon, 
'Klewaz  'ann  anter-noz  o  soon ; 

EJiewaz  ann  anter-noz  o  soon, 
Erru  koulz  ar  prosession. 

Erru  int  etre  ter  vandenn. 
Re  du  ha  re  c'hriz  ha  re  wenn. 

Touez  ar  re-w^nn  a  well  hi  mamm, 
Neuze  na  doa  ken  a  estlamm. 


The  Girl  and  Her  MotKer's  Soval     249 

They  walk  in  groups  of  three  that  night, 
The  black,  the  gray,  and  then  the  white. 
Among  the  black  the  mother  goes. 
O  God!  what  fear  the  daughter  knows! 


The  next  night  she  is  come  again 

To  pray  God  for  the  soul  in  pain: 

As  she  is  at  the  tomb  praying. 

She  hears  the  bells  of  midnight  ring ; 

She  hears  the  bells  of  midnight  ring. 

The  hour  when  spirits  are  walking. 

And  in  three  groups  they  walk  that  night, 

The  black,  the  gray,  and  then  the  white. 

Among  the  gray  the  mother  goes, 

And  less  of  fear  the  daughter  knows. 


The  next  night  she  is  come  again 
To  pray  God  for  the  soul  in  pain; 
As  she  kneels  on  the  grave  praying. 
She  hears  the  bells  of  midnight  ring; 
She  hears  the  bells  of  midnight  ring, 
The  hour  when  spirits  are  walking. 
And  in  three  groups  they  walk  that  night, 
The  black,  the  gray,  and  then  the  white. 
Among  the  white  the  mother  goes. 
And  no  more  fear  the  daughter  knows. 


250  FolK-Dallads  of  SoutKern  Hvirope 

'N  hi  davanjer  ez  eo  kroget, 
En  pewar  zamm  deuz-han  laket, 

Hi  mamm  evelhenn  deuz  laret: 
— Penamet  oud  en  graz  Doue, 

'M  boa  da  diframmet  a  beziou, 
'Vel  ma  rez  d'as  davanjerou! 

Ur  bugel  a  t'euz  bet  dalc'het, 
Em  hano  a  t'euz-han  laket, 

Hag  hennes  hen  euz  ma  zalwet! — 


LuzEL,  F.  M. :  Chants  Populaires  de  la  Basse-Bretagne  (Lorient, 
1868),  vol.  i.,  pp.  64-67. 


LA   MADRE   RISUSCITATA 

Povra  mare  ch'a  I'd  morta, 

due  mazna  ch'a  j'  k  lass^. 
E'l  pare  ch'a  s'armarida, 

n'autra  spuza  ch'  a  s'd  pi^. 
La  marastra  tan  criidela 

povri  anfan  a  i  f a  stantd. 
El  pi  cit  I'e  sensa  baila, 

s'a  n'in  fa  che  tan  piurd. 
El  pi  grand  a'l  lassa  s'  I'ara 

sensa  beive  ne  mangd, 
Sensa  capelin  an  testa 

e  sensa  le  scarpe  ai  ph. 


XHe   Dead  MotHer  IVestored        251 

She  took  the  apron  that  she  wore 
And  tore  it  into  pieces  four. 
Then  to  the  girl  the  mother  cried : 
"Had  God's  grace  not  been  on  thy  side, 
Thou  had'st  been  into  pieces  torn 
Even  like  the  apron  thou  hast  worn. 
Thou  hast  named  for  me  thy  newly-born 
Godchild,  in  church,  and  that  was  well; 
The  child  has  saved  my  soul  from  Hell." 


THE    DEAD    MOTHER   RESTORED 

{Piedmontcse) 

The  poor  mother  she  must  die 
Leaving  two  little  boys  to  cry. 

The  father  quickly  marries  another, 
Giving  his  children  a  stepmother. 

The  new  wife  does  a  cruel  thing; 
She  leaves  the  children  perishing. 

The  baby  on  his  bed  is  lying, 
Without  a  nurse,  and  always  crying. 

The  elder  son  is  left  in  the  street. 

With  nothing  to  drink  and  nothing  to  eat; 

Without  a  cap  for  his  little  head, 

Or  shoes  for  his  feet,  now  his  mother  *s  dead. 


252  FolK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  E.\irope 

Tanto  fort  cum'  a  criavo, 

la  mare  s'a  j'd,  scuta; 
Tanto  fort  cum'  a  piuravo, 

de  la  fossa  a  I'd  arsiissit^. 
Al  pi  grand  a  i  da  la  supa, 
^^  el  pi  cit  lo  fa  piipd; 
El  pi  grand  a  lo  pentnava, 

el  pi  cit  a  '1 1'a  bazd. 

Nigra,  C:  Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte  (Torino,  1888),   No. 
39,  pp.  212-213. 


MALEDIZIONE   DELLA  MADRE 

La  vedovela  1'^  na  fieta, 
Bela  biundina  da  maridd. 

S'a  j'd  pass^-je  lo  re  di  Fransa, 
Per  sua  spuzeta  la  va  ciamd. 


So  fradelino  da  'n  sii  la  porta: 
"O  mama  mia,  lassei-la  andd." 

La  sua  mama  de  la  finestra: 
"La  mia  fieta  la  voi  pa  dd. " 


An  bel  fazenda  ste  paroline, 
La  bela  an  sela  a  I'd  muntd. 

"O  va-t-ne,  va-t-ne,  la  mia  fieta, 
Che  drint  al  mar  che  t'posse  nid. " 


TKe  MotKer's  Cxirse  253 

So  loud  and  long  the  little  boy  cries, 
The  mother  hears  him  where  she  lies. 

So  loud  and  long  the  little  boy  weeps, 
Out  of  her  grave  the  mother  creeps. 

His  supper  she  feeds  to  her  elder  son, 
And  sweetly  kisses  the  little  one. 

She  combs  the  boy's  tangled  locks. 
The  baby  in  her  arms  she  rocks. 


THE   MOTHER'S  CURSE 

{Piedmonlese) 

Soon  the  widowed  mother  must  marry  her  young 
daughter ; 
But  on  a  day  a  noble  king  came  riding  down  by 
chance ; 
He  saw  her  two  white  hands,  he  saw  her  golden  tresses. 
And  wooed  the  little  maiden,  to  make  her  Queen  of 
France. 

The  girl's  little  brother  he  cried  from  the  doorway: 
"Oh,  let  her  go,  my  mother,  she  will  be  bravely  wed." 

But  the  girl's  mother  she  looked  from  the  window: 
"I  will  never  give  my  daughter  to  such  as  you," 
she  said. 

Now  the  fair  little  maiden,  while  her  mother  's  speak- 
ing. 

Has  mounted  to  the  saddle  as  nimbly  as  may  be : 
"  Oh,  go  your  own  way,  oh,  go  your  way,  my  daughter. 

And  may  you  be  drowned  in  the  depths  of  the  sea! " 


254  FolK-Dallads  of  SoutKern  Europe 


Quand  a  I'd  stdita  an  riva  al  mare, 

Povra  fieta  s'biita  a  tremd. 
"O  ten-te,  ten-te,  la  mia  spuzeta, 

Ten-te  a  la  sela  del  me  caval." 
"Mi  na  podria  mai  pi  teni-me, 

Che  la  mia  mare  m'a  sentensi^; 
E  la  sentensa  de  pare  e  mare 

A  I'a  da  esse  la  verity. 
"  Mi  povra  fia,  povra  fieta, 

Che  drint  al  mar  e  I'ai  da  ni6. 
Le  mie  tresse  cosi  biundine 

An  ftmd  a  I'aqua  I'an  da  marsd. 
"Lo  mio  sangue  I'd  cozi  dolce; 

Da  le  bal^ine  sara  siicia; 
Le  mie  manine  sun  cozi  bianche; 

Dai  pess  del  mar  a  saran  mangi^. " 
"O  marinari  de  la  marina, 

La  mia  spuzeta  vori  peschd? 
Se  mia  spuzeta  la  peschi  morta, 

Duzento  sciidi  vi  voi  ben  dh ; 
"Se  mia  spuzeta  la  peschi  viva, 

Lo  che  vori  me  pori  ciamd. " 
Sa  Fan  pesci-la  tre  di,  tre  notti; 

Bela  biundina  I'^n  pi  truvi. 
Nigra,    C:  Canti    Popolari    del    Piemonte     (Torino,    i 
No.  23  A,  pp.  151-155- 

LA  DANNADO 

— "Digo,  digo,  lou  haure,  (bis) 
Per  quant  ma  mulo  bos  herra?  (bis) 
— Ago  es  cinq  sos,  moun  prince, 
Cinq  SOS  e  un  dind. 


XKe  Accursed  255 

When  they  came  to  the  seashore  the  little  maiden 
trembled ; 
"Now  hold  fast  by  the  saddle,  my  bride,  till  we  are 
through." 
"Oh,  I  cannot  hold,  I  cannot;  my  mother  she  has 
cursed  me; 
And  the  curse  of  a  mother  or  a  father  must  come 
true. 

"I,  a  poor  little  girl,  must  be  drowned  in  the  water! 

Each  little  white  hand  will  be  gnawed  until  it  bleeds ; 
My  blood  that  is  so  sweet  will  be  sucked  by  the  fishes ; 

My  hair  that  is  so  yellow  will  be  tangled  in  the 
weeds." 

"  O  sailors  of  the  sea,  will  you  fish  for  my  sweetheart? 
You  shall  have  two  hundred  scudi,  if  you  find  her 
drowned ; 
If  you  find  her  living,  you  may  have  your  will  for 
asking." 
They  have  fished  for  three  days,  but  the  maid  they 
have  not  found. 


THE  ACCURSED 

(Gascon) 

"Blacksmith,  blacksmith,  say  now,  say, 
For  what  will  you  shoe  my  mule  to-day?" 
"My  prince,  for  five  sous,  for  five  sous 
And  one  centime,  I  '11  set  her  shoes." 


256  FolK-Dallads  of  SoxjtHern  Unrope 

— Digo,  digo,  lou  haure, 
Se  ma  mulo  tendras. 

— Jou  que  n'ei  tengut  d'autos. 

Aquesto  que  tendr^i. 

— Au  prum^  her  que  boutes, 

Pai  te  ba  apera." 

Au  prum^  clau  que  bouto, 

Pai  que  I'a  aperat. 

— Qui  es-tu,  insoulento, 
Que  pai  m'as  aperat? 

— La  bosto  hillo  Jano, 
J^  m'au^tz  enterrat. 

— Digo,  ma  hillo  Jano, 
Qui  t'a  heito  danna? 

— Lou  cure  de  Lalando, 
Lou  loung  dou  bernissa. 

Quant  jou  ^ri  pastoureto, 
M'i  benguduo  trouba.     ,. 

Ma  so,  qu'es  a  la  caso, 
L'i  d^chetz  pas  ana. 

Autroment,  lou  men  p^ro, 
Bous  que  boun  batz  danna. 

Las  hardos  qu'ei  a  caso, 
L'ac  dechetz  pas  pourta. 

Prenguetz,  prenguetz,  las  toutos, 
Enta  las  h^  burla. 

Toutos,  toutos  las  cenes,  (bis) 
Au  bent  las  cau  jita.  (bis) 
Blad6,  J.-F.:  Poesies  Populaires  de  la  Gascogne  (Paris,  1882), 
vol.  ii.,  pp.  142-146. 


The  Accvirsed  257 

"Blacksmith,  blacksmith,  tell,  now  tell. 
Do  you  think  you  can  hold  her  well?" 

"  I  have  held  the  like  of  her; 

I  '11  hold  her  so  she  cannot  stir." 

"The  first  shoe  you  set  in  place, 

She  '11  call  you  'Father'  to  your  face." 

The  first  shoe  he  sets  in  place. 
She  calls  him  "  Father"  to  his  face. 

"What  art  thou,  insolent  fool? 
Am  I  called  'Father'  by  a  mule?" 

"I  am  Jeanne,  thy  daughter  dead, 
That  yesterday  was  buried." 

"O  my  daughter,  tell  to  me 
Who  is  it  has  cursed  thee?" 

"Down  along  the  river's  strand 
Came  the  cure  of  Lalande ; 

"When  I  kept  the  sheep  for  thee, 
He  would  always  seek  for  me. 

"My  sister  's  in  the  house,  and  oh. 
Never,  never,  let  her  go ! 

"If  you  do,  my  father,  know 
You  will  be  accursed  also. 

"My  clothing  in  the  house  there,  bring, 
Never  let  her  wear  a  thing; 

"Everything  that  was  mine  take 
And  burn  with  fire,  for  her  sake. 

"All  the  ashes  that  you  find 
You  must  scatter  to  the  wind. " 
17 


258  T*olK-Ballads  of  SovitKern  I^vjrope 


H  BOH  TOT  MNHMATOS 


Sot^^axov  ?5Xov  icfvajxe,  tyjv  xuptax'  oX'  iQixepa, 

Kal  TTjv  BeuTepav  ih  xoupvbv  IcwGy)  10  xpaai  ^aq. 

'O  xaxstdvoi;  [i'  eaxecXe  va  Tcaw,  xpaal  va  ^Ipw 

Eevos  eyo)  xal  a^xaOoq  oev  f^^spa  tov  opo^jLOV, 

K'  Ixfjpa  atpaTats  '^(ouTpoctati;  xal  qeva  ^ovoxccTta. 

Tb  [jLOVoxaTt  ix'  e^yaXe  as  ^jlixv  (|iY]X-r]v  pa^^ouXaV 

'^Hxav  ye^J-'^'^"']  [Ji-VfjjJLaTa,  oX'  axb  xaXXr)xdpca, 

"Ev  (j.VY^^a  -^Tav  ^ova^bv,  ^e^^wpov  dxb  x'  aXXa' 

Aev  cloa,  xal  xb  xdxYjaa  dxavw  'a  xb  xe^dXf 

BoTjv  dxouo)  xal  ^povxtjv  dxb  xbv  xdxw  x6a[jLOV. 

"Tf  I'xscs,  tii-viiiJLa,  xal  ^oyyaq,  xal  ^apavaaxevdt^sK;; 

"Mt^vcz  xb  x<Ji>lJ^2c  CO  J  ^apsl;  ^v^va  •/]  lAaupT)  xXdxa;" — 

"OuSI  xb  X^f-'^  i^oG  ^apet,  ouBI  tq  (xaupY)  xXdxa, 

"Mbv  16  '}(w  ^j-dpav  x'  IvxpoxYjv,  x'  evav  xalifxbv  [xeyaXov, 

"Tb  x(I)<;  jjLs  xo:xa(pp6vc(j£s,  [x'  £xdxY]a£(;  'a  xb  x£9aXt. 

"  Td^a  Bev  fjixouv  x'  eyw  vso?;  cev  tjijlouv  xaXXrjxdpt; 

"Asv  IxepxdxYjaa  x'  eyw  xy]v  vuxxa  jJie  cpeyydpt;" 

Fauriel,  C.  C:  Chants  Populaires  de  la  Grhce  (Paris,  1825),  vol. 
ii.,  pp.  400-401. 


XKe  Voice  from  Undergrovund     259 


THE  VOICE  FROM  UNDERGROUND 
{Modern  Greek) 

All  Saturday  we  were  drinking,  and  Sunday  the  day 

through ; 
On  Monday  morning  our  wine  was  gone  and  what  were 

we  to  do? 
The  captain  sent  me  out  to  fetch  more  wine  that  day, 
But,  a  stranger,  with  no  guide,  I  could  not  find  the 

way; 
And  so  I  took  wrong  roads,  and  secret  paths,  until 
One  little  lonely  pathway  led  me  out  on  a  high  hill. 
The  place  was  full  of  tombs,  all  tombs  of  soldiers 

brave, 
And  apart  from  all  the  rest  there  was  a  single  grave ; 
I  trod  across  its  head  for  I  did  not  see  the  mound ; 
I  heard  a  rumbling  voice  from  the  world  below  the 

ground : 
"What  is  the  matter,  tomb,  that  you  sigh  so  loud 

and  groan? 
Perhaps  earth  weighs  you  down,  or  is  it  this  black 

stone?" 
"  'T  is  not  the  earth  that  weighs,  nor  is  it  the  black 

stone, 
But  I  suffer  and  am  shamed,  and  with  great  pain  I 

groan. 
Because  you  have  despised  me,  treading  across  my 

grave. 
Perhaps  I  was  not  young,  I  too!     Was  I  not  brave? 
Have  I  not  walked,  I  too,  by  night  under  the  moon?" 


26o  FolK-Ballads  of  SoxitKern  Europe 

MIORITA 

Pe-un  pidor  de  plaiu, 
Pe-o  gur^  de  raiu, 
Eats,  vinu  in  cale, 
Se  coborii  la  vale 
Trei  turme  de  mlei 
Cu  trei  ciobSnei. 
Unu-i  Moldovan 
Unu-i  Ungurean 
§i  unu-i  Vrancean. 
Ear  eel  Ungurean 
§i  cu  eel  Vrancean. 
Mari,  se  vorbirS, 
Ei  se  sfStuira 
Pe  I'apus  de  sore 
Ca  se  mi  1  omore 
Pe  eel  Moldovan 
CS-i  mai  ortoman, 
§'are  oi  mai  multe 
Mindre  §i  cornute, 
§i  cai  inv&Xa.X'i 
§i  c^ni  mai  barba^i! 
Dar  cea  Miorit-S, 
Cu  lana  plavi-^S 
De  trei  (^ile  'ncoace 
Gura  nu-i  mai  tace, 
Erba  nu-i  mai  place, 
" — MioritS,  lae, 
Lae,  bucalae, 
De  trei  <^ile  'ncoace 
Gura  nu'ti  mai  tace! 
Ori  ^rba  nu'^i  place, 
Ori  e§ti  bolnaviorS, 


The  Little  Lamb  261 

THE   LITTLE   LAMB 

{Roumafiian) 

Where  a  mountain  valley  lies 

Beautiful  as  Paradise, 

To  a  pasture  green  and  deep, 

Came  three  shepherds  with  their  sheep. 

One  was  out  of  Hungary, 

Moldave  was  the  second  herd, 

Vrancian  mountaineer  the  third. 


Now  the  herd  of  Hungary, 
And  the  Vrancian,  jealously. 
Vow  to  kill  the  young  Moldave 
When  the  sun  a-setting  lies; 
He  is  hateful  in  their  eyes. 
For  he  is  so  rich  and  brave ; 
Many  well-homed  sheep  he  leads, 
Trusty  dogs  and  goodly  steeds; 


But  a  white  lamb,  curly-fleeced. 
Of  the  Moldave's  flock  the  least. 
Through  three  days  no  grass  will  eat, 
Only  sadly  bleat  and  bleat. 


"Whitest  little  lamb  of  mine, 
Tell  to  me  that  pain  of  thine; 
For  three  days,  so  mournfully 
Crying,  thou  hast  followed  me; 
Here  the  grass  is  green  and  sweet, 
Art  thou  sick  and  wilt  not  eat. 


2-52   FolK-Dallads  of  SoutKern  Europe 

Dr^gu^a  Miora? 
— Dragu^ule  bace! 
Da1^i  oile  'ncoace 
La  negru  Zevoi, 
CS,-1  erba  de  nol 
§i  umbra  de  vol. 
StS,pane,  stS,pane, 
I^i  chiama  §'un  cane 
Cel  mai  bS,rbS,tesc 
§i  eel  mai  frS-^esc 
Ca  I'apus  de  sore 
Vreu  se  mi  te-omore 
Baciul  Ungurean 
§i  cu  eel  Vrancean! 
— Oi^a  Birsana, 
De  esei  nasdravanS 
§i  de-a  fi  se  mor 
In  camp  de  mohor, 
Se  spui  lui  Vrancean 
§i  lui  Ungurean 
Ca  se  me  ingrope 
Aiee  pe-aprope 
In  strunga  de  oi, 
Se  fiu  tot  cu  vol ; 
In  dosul  stinii 
Se'mi  aud  canii. 
Aste  se  le  spui, 
Ear  la  cap  se'ml  pu! 
Fluera§  de  fag, 
Mult  (^ice  cu  drag! 
Fluera§  de  os. 
Mult  4ice  duios! 
Fluera§  de  soc, 
Mult^^ice  cu  foe! 


The  Little  Lamb  263 

Dearest  little  lamb  of  mine?" 

"Shepherd,  0  my  shepherd  dear! 
Lead  the  sheep  afar  from  here ; 
Yonder  in  the  great,  dark  wood, 
For  us  there  is  pasture  good ; 
Shade  for  us  and  thee  is  there ; 
Master,  Hsten  to  my  prayer. 
Of  thy  dogs,  the  bravest,  best, 
Take  with  thee,  and  trustiest ; 
For  the  man  of  Hungary, 
And  the  Vrancian,  cruelly 
At  nightfall  will  murder  thee." 

"Curly  lambkin,  if  indeed 
Thou  canst  in  the  future  read ; 
If  Fate  wills  I  die  to-day. 
In  this  meadow,  thou  must  say 
Bold  to  him  of  Hungary, 
Boldly  to  the  mountaineer. 
That  they  lay  my  body  here. 
Close  beside  my  herd-hut  small, 
So  I  may  stay  near  you  all ; 
Stay  among  my  sheep  and  still 
Lie  and  hsten  underground 
To  my  dogs  upon  the  hill. 
See  thou,  when  my  grave  is  made, 
Over  me  my  three  flutes  laid ; 
One  all  wrought  of  beech  en  wood 
Sings  how  love  is  true  and  good ; 
One  that 's  carved  of  ivory 
Tells  the  heart's  pain,  tenderly; 
One  of  elder-tree  that  loud 
Sounds  of  joy  and  courage  proud. 


264  FolK-Dallads  of  SoutHern  E-virope 

Vintul  c^nd  a  bate 
Prin  ele-a  resbate 
§'oile  s'or  stringe 
Pe  mine  m'or  plunge 
Cu  lacrimi  de  sange! 
Ear  tu  de  omor 
Se  nu  le  spui  lor. 
Se  le  spui  curat 
CS.  m'am  insurat 
Cu-o  mindrS,  Craes^, 
A  lumei  miresa; 
Ca  la  nunta  mea 
Au  cSc^ut  o  stea; 
Sorele  §i  luna 
Mi-au  ^inut  cununa. 
Bra(^i  §i  paltina§i 
I-am  avut  nunta§i, 
Preo^i,  mun^ii  mari, 
Paseri,  lautari, 
Paserele  mii, 
§i  stele  f&clii! 
Ear  daca-i  zari 
Daca-i  intalni 
Maicut^a  batrina 
Cu  briul  de  lS,na, 
Din  ochi  lacrimand. 
Pe  cdmpi  alergand, 
De  to^i  intreband 
^i  la  tot-i  (^icand: 
Cine-au  cunoscut 
Cine  'mi  aii  ve^ut 
Mindru  ciobanel 
Tras  printr'un  inel? 


The  Little  Lamb  265 

When  the  wind  comes  softly  creeping, 
And  awakes  my  flutes  from  sleeping, 
All  my  sheep  will  gather  round, 
Shedding  tears  upon  the  ground. 
Lambkin,  no  word  shalt  thou  tell 
In  what  wise  my  death  befell; 
Say  I  wed  a  royal  bride, 
Wooed  of  all  the  world  beside; 
Say  that  when  our  faith  was  given, 
A  bright  star  fell  out  of  Heaven; 
Sun  and  moon  stood  holding  there 
A  marriage-wreath  above  my  hair; 
Mountains  tall  were  priests  to  me; 
Guests  were  pine  and  alder-tree; 
Torches  were  the  flaming  stars, 
Thousand  birds  my  lute-players. 


"If  thou  should'st  my  mother  meet, 
With  her  woolen  girdle  brown, 
And  her  poor  eyes  weeping  down 
Bitter  tears;  on  trembhng  feet. 
Through  the  meadows  hastening, 
All  the  people  questioning : 
'Who  has  seen  my  shepherd-lad? 
Is  no  other  hke  to  him. 
My  young  shepherd,  straight  and  slim, 
Fit  to  leap  through  ring  and  ring ; 


266  FolK-Ballads  of  SoutKern  H-urope 

Fegi^ora  lui 
Spuma  laptelui; 
Muste^iora  lui 
Spicul  graului; 
Peri§orul  lui 
Pena  corbului; 
Ochi§orii  lui 
Mura  campului!  .  .  . 
Tu,  Miora  mea, 
Se  te  'nduri  de  ea 
§i-i  spune  curat 
CS,  m'am  insurat 
Cu-o  fats,  de  Craiu 
Pe-o  gurS  de  raiu. 
Ear  la  cea  maicu^S, 
Se  nu  spui,  dragu^^S, 
C&  la  nunta  mea 
A  ca^tit  o  stea, 
Cam  avut  nunta?! 
Brac^i  §i  paltina^i, 
Preo^i,  munl^ii  mari, 
Paseri,  lS,utari, 
P&serele  mii 
§i  stele  fSclii!   .    .    . 

Alecsandri,  Vasile:  Poesii  Populare  ale  Romdnilor  (Bucur- 
esd,  1866),  pp.  1-4. 


THe  Little  Lamb  267 

Like  the  milk-foam  his  white  skin, 
Black  his  hair  as  raven's  wing, 
Like  ripe  corn  his  bearded  chin, 
Brown  his  eyes  as  mulberries, 
Brown  and  dark  those  eyes  of  his.' 

"To  her,  pit5ang,  thou  shalt  say 
A  fair  queen  I  wed  to-day, 
In  a  far-o£E  land  that  lies 
Beautiful  as  Paradise. 
To  my  mother  never  tell 
How  from  Heaven  a  bright  star  fell ; 
How  the  peaks  were  priests  to  me, 
My  guests  pine  and  alder-tree; 
How  my  torches  were  the  stars, 
And  the  birds  my  lute-players." 


i 


I 


NOTES 


269 


THE  SUN  AND  THE  MOON 

This  ballad  was  found  by  Miss  Jewett  not  only  in  the 
Roumanian  but  also  in  the  French  verse  of  Vasile  Alecsandri, 
a  romantic  poet  of  Roumania  in  the  mid-nineteenth  century 
and  a  collector  of  the  national  folk-songs.  In  this  pursuit, 
which  occupied  him  for  several  years,  he  traversed  on  foot  the 
mountains  and  plains  of  Roumania,  listening  to  the  peasants 
as  they  sang,  to  slow  and  plaintive  airs,  the  ballads  of  their  native 
land.  A  small  volume,  containing  his  translations  into  French 
verse  or  prose  of  twenty-four  of  these  ballads,  was  published  at 
Paris  in  1855,  with  an  introduction  by  his  friend,  M.  A.  Ubicini. 
In  1859  Johann  Karl  Schuller  issued  Ronidnische  Volkslieder, 
where  a  number  of  Roumanian  ballads,  including  The  Sun  and 
the  Moon  and  The  Little  Lamb,  are  rendered  into  German  verse. 
In  this  same  year,  Grenville  Murray  published  in  London  Songs 
and  Legends  of  Roumania,  where  are  retold,  in  simple  prose,  these 
two  stories,  together  with  those  of  Bujor  and  Shalga  and  others. 
The  Sun  and  the  Moon  and  The  Little  Lamb  reappeared  in  German 
verse  in  A.  Franken's  Riimanische  Volkslieder  und  Balladen  in 
1889. 

In  his  notes  on  Le  Soleil  et  la  Lune  (Soavele  si  Luna)  Alecsandri 
states  that  the  beautiful  Helen  with  golden  hair  is  the  heroine  of 
many  a  folk-tale.  He  explains,  too,  that  at  Roumanian  weddings 
the  bride,  in  lieu  of  wearing  a  veil,  is  crowned  with  an  ornament 
of  golden  floss  that  falls  about  her  in  long  tresses.  In  H^l^ne 
Vacaresco's  Songs  of  the  Valiant  Voivode  there  is  given,  in  the  lay 
of  The  Young  Prince,  Who,  Born  of  a  Rose-Tree,  Became  a  RosC' 
Tree  Himself,  a  different  legend  of  sun  and  moon. 

"The  moon  walks  on  the  leaves  and  walks  so  lightly 
That  not  one  leaf  is  stirred. 
The  stars  are  dead  because  the  moon  has  killed  them, 
And  yet  she  smiles,  the  murderous  moon. 
271 


272  Notes 

You  see  I  know  all  the  white  moon's  dark  secrets, 

It 's  she  herself  that  kills  the  sun, 
And  on  the  sky  her  knife  is  bloody,  but  the  sun  rises  from  his 
tomb. 

And  every  night 

She  has  to  kill  again. " 

"  But  the  sun  rises  every  morning  from  his  red  tomb. 
Now  to-day  I  have  heard  a  strange  thing,  my  fair  husband. 
The  moon  still  loves  the  sun. 
And  they  are  wedded; 
They  have  a  marriage  ring. 
It  is  made  of  the  gold  of  the  sun 
And  the  silver  of  the  moon, 
Exactly  like  our  own. " 

THE   NOBLE   SIBILLA 

This  ballad  was  taken  down  from  the  singing  of  a  peasant 
woman  in  the  neighborhood  of  Marsala  and  first  printed  (in 
Nuove  Effemeridi  Stciliane,  Nuova  Serie,  i.,  528)  in  1874.  Four 
years  later  it  was  reprinted  and  discussed  by  Felix  Liebrecht  (in 
Zeitschrift  fiir  deutsche  Philologie,  ix.,  53-64),  who  contended  that 
the  ballad,  instead  of  being  founded,  as  had  been  assumed,  on 
the  actual  adventures  of  a  lady  stolen  by  Tunisian  corsairs  about 
1500,  bears  all  the  marks  of  a  fairy-tale.  Its  variants,  which 
Liebrecht  had  already  traced  in  Italy,  Belgium,  Germany, 
England,  Russia,  have  since  been  found  to  be  remarkably 
numerous.     See  Child,  No.  95;  The  Maid  Freed  from  the  Callows. 

THE   SAILOR 

A  close  analogue  to  this  Catalonian  ballad  is  the  Piedmontese 
II  Marinaro  (Nigra,  No.  44),  but  the  hint  of  magic  music  connects 
it  with  the  English  Glasgerion  (Child,  No.  67).  The  following 
ballad,  The  Corsair,  also  gives  strange  power  to  the  sailor's  song. 

THE  CORSAIR 

Nigra  (under  No.  14)  classifies  the  many  ballads  upon  this 
theme,  and  Child,  in  his  discussion  of  Lady  Isabel  and  the  Elf- 
Knight  (No.  4),  to  which  this  ballad,  like  the  preceding,  is  allied  by 


Notes  273 

the  magic  music  and,  unlike  the  preceding,  by  the  woman's  resort 
to  craft,  carefully  distinguishes  (vol.  i.,  p.  45)  The  Corsair  and 
its  parallels  from  those  ballads  in  which  the  maiden  slays,  not 
herself,  but  her  abductor.  Victor  Smith  notes  (in  Romania,  vol. 
vii.,  p.  67)  that  the  folk-songs  of  ship-stolen  maidens  are  naturally 
found  in  their  most  complete  form  in  maritime  provinces. 

THE   MOOR   SARACEN 

This  ballad  is  discussed  by  Nigra  (under  No.  40)  at  the  length 
of  thirty-seven  pages,  the  names  of  the  characters  and  every 
incident  of  the  action,  with  the  folk-lore  variants,  being  passed  in 
review.  The  recognition  by  means  of  the  ring  links  it  lightly  to 
Hind  Horn  (Child,  No.  17),  but  the  great  diffusion  of  the  ballad  is, 
of  course,  in  Southern  Europe,  especially  in  Provence,  Piedmont, 
and,  above  all,  in  the  Spanish  Peninsula,  where  Castilian,  Portu- 
guese, and  Catalan  versions  abound.     See  Cribete. 

CRIBETE 

This  tragic  Gascon  version  of  the  popular  ballad  preceding 
(see  note  on  The  Moor  Saraceyi)  excels  in  beauty.  Here  the 
scene  is  localized  by  reference  to  the  river  Oviedo  in  the  mountain 
region  of  Northwestern  Spain.  Folk-songs  of  stolen  brides  are 
common  and  of  wide  distribution.  "The  ballad  of  the  stolen 
bride,"  notes  Miss  Jewett,  "is  the  most  primitive  in  situation, 
though  often  the  example  is  late. "  She  notes  again  that  stealing 
a  bride  is  "as  natural  to  simple  society  as  stealing  a  horse. "  The 
latter  tendency  has  left  its  trace  on  English  balladry  in  The 
Lochmaben  Harper  (Child,  No.  192),  the  former  in  Katharine 
J  affray  (Child,  No.  221),  on  which  Scott's  Lochinvar  is  founded, 
and  in  the  later  Lord  William  or  Lord  Lundy  (Child,  No.  254). 
Miss  Jewett  summarizes  as  follows  a  Roumanian  parallel  (Alecs- 
andri,  No.  11)  entitled  Novak  and  the  Daughter  of  the  Kadi: 
"When  the  prince  Jovitza  has  stolen  away  the  lady,  her  father 
pursues  in  wrath  to  the  very  palace  of  the  aged  Novak,  uncle  and 
protector  of  Jovitza.  As  the  angry  father  lifts  his  sword  to  strike 
the  culprits,  Novak  appears.  The  old  man  slowly  raised  his 
long  lashes  to  look  upon  his  guest  and  said  to  him:  'Stay  thy 
hand,  Kadi  my  brother,  and  remember  these  words:  Young  folk 
make  quarrels,  and  the  old  make  peace.'" 

Z8 


274  Notes 

COUNT   SOL 

Duran  found  this  ballad  well  known  among  the  peasants  of 
Andalusia,  especialty  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Ronda.  Many- 
analogues,  Northern  and  Southern,  are  enumerated  by  Child 
under  Young  Beichan  (No.  53).  See  also  Nigra's  discussion 
under  Moran  d'Inghilterra  (No.  42).  Of  the  Piedmontese  ver- 
sion Miss  Jewett  says:  "This  Italian  ballad  is  spirited  but  trivial, 
lacking  the  naive  pathos  of  Youtig  Beichan  and  the  grace  of  El 
Conde  Sol. "  Miss  Jewett  notes  resemblances  borne  by  the  ballads 
to  Beves  and  other  English  romances  (see  Three  Middle  English 
Romances  retold  by  Laura  A.  Hibbard,  Nutt,  London,  191 1, — 
a  book  dedicated  Alia  mia  Maestra  Sophie  Jeivett)  and  finds  an 
interesting  Modern  Greek  parallel  in  Tommaseo's  Canti  Greet, 
iii.,  p.  112. 

THE   PILGRIM 

This  tragic  variant  of  El  Conde  Sol  is  an  old  and  favorite  ballad 
of  Portugal.  Almeida-Garrett  states  that  he  found  fragments 
of  it  the  country  through. 

HERO   AND   LEANDER 

The  story  of  these  famous  lovers,  though  often  so  altered 
that  Mussus  would  hardly  recognize  his  own,  appears  in  many 
Continental  ballads,  not  only  of  the  Latin  countries,  but  of 
Germany,  Scandinavia,  and  the  Netherlands.  This  Piedmontese 
version  was  recited  in  Turin,  Nigra  states  (under  No.  7),  by  an  old 
woman  who  could  barely  read  and  write  and  certainly  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  classic  original  of  her  tale. 

THE  TEST 

This  is  one  of  the  most  popular  of  folk-lore  subjects.  Nigra 
enumerates  (under  No.  54)  parallels  in  various  Italian  dialects, 
in  French,  Spanish,  Portuguese,  German,  and  Modem  Greek. 
Our  English  analogue  is  The  Bailiff's  Daughter  of  Islington 
(Child,  No.  105). 

PIERRE   OF  GRENOBLE 

In  certain  French  and  Italian  variants  of  this  ballad  the  sweet- 
heart, Nannette,  is  already  buried,  but  rises  from  the  grave  to 
bid  her  lover  return  to  his  duty  as  a  soldier. 


Notes  275 

THE   DEAD   BRIDE 

All  folk-song  delights  in  lovers  who  die  for  love,  as  the  popu- 
larity of  Bonny  Barbara  Allan  (Child,  No.  84)  readily  witnesses. 
The  Dead  Bride,  whose  parallels  abound  in  the  dialects  of  South- 
em  Europe,  connects  with  English  balladry,  more  or  less  directly, 
through  Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Atinet  (Child,  No.  73),  Fair 
Margaret  and  Sweet  William  (Child,  No.  74),  and  Lord  Lovel 
(Child,  No.  75). 

CATALINOTA 

This  ballad  is  a  variant  of  the  preceding.  Nigra  (No.  17)  gives 
four  full  Piedmontese  versions  of  this  story,  of  which  Miss  Jewett 
translated  the  first  {The  Dead  Bride)  and  the  fourth  (Catalindta). 

BRIDAL   DANCE   AND   FUNERAL 

Nigra  (under  No.  20)  connects  this  ballad,  whose  French  and 
Italian  analogues  he  notes,  with  Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet 
(Child,  No.  73),  but  the  analogy  is  closer  with  Fair  Janet  (Child, 
No.  64). 

FLOWERS   FROM   THE   GRAVE 

On  these  "vivacious  growths  "  see  Nigra  (No.  19,  Fior  di  Tomba) 
and  Child  (No.  7,  Earl  Brand;  No.  64,  Fair  Janet;  No.  73,  Lord 
Thomas  and  Fair  Annet;  No.  74,  Fair  Margaret  and  Sweet 
William;  No.  75,  Lord  Lovel;  No.  76,  The  Lass  of  Roch  Royal; 
No.  85,  Lady  Alice;  No.  87,  Prince  Robert,  and  No.  222 — version 
in  Appendix,  vol.  v.,  p.  261 — Bonny  Baby  Livingston). 

Miss  Jewett  notes:  "Of  all  the  stock  material  of  the  romantic 
ballads,  perhaps  the  fancy  that  has  the  widest  circulation  is  that 
of  the  flowers,  vines  or  trees  that  spring  from  lovers'  graves.  The 
rose  and  the  brier  that  spring  from  the  graves  of  dead  lovers  in 
the  British  ballads  have  analogies  all  over  the  Continent.  Prof. 
Child  and  Count  Nigra  devote  many  pages  to  collecting  and  com- 
paring the  different  forms  in  which  these  symbols  of  faithfulness 
or  of  innocence  appear.  Prof.  Child's  illustrations  are  taken 
from  nearly  twenty  diflferent  languages.  In  the  British  ballad 
only  the  brier,  birk,  and  rose  are  found.  In  other  Germanic 
ballads  there  are  roses,  lindens,  pinks,  and  rue;  but  most  com- 
monly, especially  in  the  German,  it  is  the  lily  that  blossoms  on  the 


276  Notes 

grave  of  knight  or  maiden.  It  will  be  noticed  that  in  the  Southern 
ballads  roses  and  lilies  give  place,  for  the  most  part,  to  firs,  cy- 
presses, olives,  pines,  and  orange  or  lemon  trees.  Loveliest  of 
all  are  the  reeds  that,  growing  from  a  maiden's  grave,  as  in  The 
Pilgrim,  sigh  in  the  night,  or  are  bowed  by  the  wind  to  kiss  the 
cypress,  as  in  this  Modern  Greek  folk-song  (from  Tommaseo: 
Canti  Greci  in  Catiti  Popolari,  vol.  iii.,  p.  64): 
'And  the  girl  became  a  reed, 

And  the  youth  a  little  cypress  tree. 

The  wind  bent  the  reed  so  that  it  kissed  the  cypress: 

If  they  might  not  kiss  living. 
Dead  they  kiss  each  other.' 

"It  is  of  course  useless  to  conjecture  whether  this  much  loved 
fancy  has  strayed  into  popular  song  from  the  great  medieval 
romances,  or  whether  the  romance  writers  made  use  of  an  already 
familiar  symbol;  or  whether  romance  and  ballad  alike  have 
inherited  a  bit  of  beauty  from  Greek  myth.  In  any  case,  this 
fancy  has  attached  itself  to  the  two  greatest  of  medieval  love 
stories.  The  rose  and  vine  are  immortal  with  the  love  of  Tristan 
and  Isolde;  and  the  yew-tree  with  that  of  Deirdre  and  Naisi." 

In  illustration  of  the  above.  Miss  Jewett  would  cite  the  myths 
of  Hyacinthus  and  Ajax,  together  with  the  following  passages: 

(From  Gottfried  von  Strassburg's  Tristan  und  Iseult,  translated 
by  Jessie  Weston,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  154-5.)  '"Then  he  [Mark]  bade 
them  embalm  the  bodies,  and  he  bare  them  back  with  him  to 
Tintagel,  and  laid  them  in  marble  tombs  on  either  side  of  the 
chapel  wherein  the  kings  of  his  line  lay  buried.  And  by  the 
tomb  of  Tristan  he  bade  them  plant  a  rose-tree,  and  by  that  of 
Iseult  a  vine,  and  the  two  reached  towards  each  other  across  the 
chapel,  and  wove  branches  and  root  so  closely  together  that  no 
man  hereafter  might  separate  them.'" 

(From  The  Cuchullin  Saga  in  Irish  Literature,  retold  by  Eleanor 
Hull,  p.  53,  note  at  end  of  The  Sons  of  Usnach.)  " '  It  is  said  that 
King  Conchobar  was  so  incensed  that  Naisi  and  Deirdre  should 
even  in  death  dwell  in  the  mansion  of  the  grave  together,  that  he 
ordered  them  to  be  laid  far  apart  in  the  burial-ground.  Every 
morning  for  some  days,  however,  the  graves  would  be  found  open, 
and  Naisi  and  Deirdre  found  together  in  one  of  them.  Then 
Conchobar  ordered  that  stakes  of  yew  should  be  driven  severally 
through  their  bodies,  in  order  to  keep  them  asunder.     But  two 


Notes  277 

yew-trees  sprang  from  these  two  stakes,  which  grew  to  such  a 
height  that  they  embraced  each  other  over  the  cathedral  of 
Armagh.' " 

Miss  Jewett's  unrevised  translation  of  the  Roumanian  ballad  of 
The  Veil  and  the  Ring  (Alecsandri,  No.  v.)  may  appropriately  be 
added  here: 

"There  was  once, — there  was  a  prince, 
Young,  a  splendid  lad, 
Like  a  fir-tree  of  the  forest 
Upon  the  peak  of  the  mountains. 
He  has  taken  to  wife  a  maiden  of  the  village, 
A  Roumanian  maiden  beloved  of  all  the  neighborhood, 
Like  a  flower  of  the  field  that  shines  in  the  sun. 
Now  there  has  come  to  him  the  order  to  return  to  the  camp  and 

he  sadly  says  to  her: 
'Sweetheart  mine,  soul  of  mine!     Take  thou  this  my  ring,  put 

it  upon  thy  finger.     When  the  ring  tarnishes.  Thou  wilt 

know,  beloved,  that  I  am  dead.' 
She  says  likewise  to  him : 

'Take  thou  my  veil  of  silk  with  fringes  of  gold. 
When  the  gold  fades,  thou  wilt  know,  sweetheart,  that  I  am 

dead.' 

He  throws  himself  into  the  saddle  and  goes  on  a  long  journey. 
He  comes  to  a  place  where  he  lights  a  great  fire  in  the  midst  of 
the  forest  by  the  fountain  of  the  crows.  He  puts  his  hand  into 
his  breast  and  takes  out  the  veil.  He  looks  upon  it  and  his  heart 
is  broken. 

'  My  dear  comrades,  my  good  fellows,  valiant  ones, 
Stay  ye  here  and  eat  and  rest  in  the  shade. 
At  home  I  have  left,  forgotten,  my  sword,  thrown  upon  the 
green  table.' 

He  goes  on  his  way  and  meets  a  brave  fellow  on  a  little  horse. 

'Good  fellow,  brave  youth. 
What  was  the  news  when  you  left? ' 

'If  thou  wilt  hear,  seigneur,  know  that  the  news  may  be  good 
for  some  one  else;  it  is  anything  but  good  for  thee. 


278  Notes 

'Thy  father  has  raided  the  country,  he  has  thrown  thy  bride  into 
a  river  broad  and  deep.' 

The  prince  bursts  into  tears  and  cries  out: 

'Here,  neighbor,  take  my  steed;  conduct  it  to  my  father.  If 
he  asks  what  has  become  of  me,  tell  him  I  have  thrown 
myself  from  the  bank  of  the  river  to  find  the  woman  I  love.' 

His  father  has  raised  a  company;  they  have  dragged  the  river, 
dragged  and  searched  it,  and  found  the  youths  locked  in  each 
other's  arms,  lying  bright  on  the  sandy  bed  of  the  stream,  with 
their  yellow  tresses  and  their  faces'  rosy  glow. 

They  take  them  to  the  church,  they  array  them  in  beautiful 
shrouds.  They  bury  him  near  the  sacred  altar  toward  the  East; 
her  near  the  door  to  the  West. 

From  his  grave,  brother,  sprang  up  a  beautiful  fir-tree  and  bent 
over  the  church.     From  hers  shot  a  vine,  whose  soft  tendrils 
climbed  along  the  wall  to  entwine  the  fir. 
O  God !  Lord  God !  strike  with  thine  avenging  lightning. 
Strike  those  who  would  break  the  cords  that  bind  together  two 
young  hearts. " 

THE  TWO   GRAVES 

Of  this  Piedmontese  ballad  Nigra  gives  (No.  i8)  eight  versions, 
with  interesting  variations  in  the  names  of  the  towns.  He 
appends  a  page  of  discussion  along  the  lines  of  the  preceding  note. 
See  Flowers  from  the  Grave. 

COUNT  ARNAUD 

This  story  is  one  of  the  most  widely  diffused  of  Continental 
folk-tales.  The  coming  home  of  the  death-stricken  son  to  his 
mother  suggests  analogy  with  Lord  Randal  and  Edward  Edward, 
but  our  true  English  analogue  is  Clerk  Colvil  (Child,  No.  42), 
although  this  preserves  the  earlier  part  of  the  story,  missing  in 
the  Gascon  ballad  and  in  its  beautiful  Venetian  variant  follow- 
ing, and  loses  the  dialogue  between  the  young  wife  and  her 
husband's  mother.  With  these  two  Miss  Jewett  apparently  had 
in  mind  to  translate  a  third,  Le  Seigneur  Conite,  given  by  Luzel 


Notes  279 

(Contes  Populaires  dc  la  Basse-Bretagne,  vol.  i.,  pp.  4  seq.)  as  sung 
by  a  blind  beggar  in  1844.     According  to  this  version,  the  Count 
had  gone  hunting  to  find  a  bit  of  game,  a  partridge  or  hare,  for  the 
capricious  appetite  of  his  lady  so  soon  to  be  a  mother,  and  had  in 
the  wood  come  upon  a  fairy,  who,  on  his  refusal  to  marry  her, 
gave  him  his  choice  between  a  lingering  death  of  seven  years  and 
a  swift  death  within  three  days.     Tenderlj'  he  chooses: 
"J  'aime  mieux  mourir  dans  trois  jours, 
Que  rester  sept  ans  sur  mon  lit; 
Car  ma  petite  femme  est  bien  jeune, 
Et  elle  aurait  avec  moi  beaucoup  de  chagrin. " 
He  returns  home  to  his  mother  to  die,  the  rest  of  the  ballad  follow- 
ing the  lines  of  Cotmt  Arnaud.     Miss  Jewett's  summary  runs: 

"The  young  Countess  asks  her  mother-in-law  what  has  hap- 
pened to  her  husband  that  he  docs  not  come. 

'He  has  gone  shooting  in  the  forest  to  bring  you  some  little 
thing. '  She  asks  what  has  happened  in  the  household  that  she 
hears  the  servants  weeping. 

'They  were  bathing  the  horses,  and  the  most  beautiful  is 
drowned. ' 

'They  were  washing  and  the  water  has  carried  off  the  finest 
linen. ' 

'A  beggar  lodged  here  and  died  in  the  night.  He  is  to  be 
buried  to-day. '  She  asks  what  to  wear  to  church  for  her  puri- 
fication. 

'  It  is  the  custom  to  wear  black. ' 

Arrived  at  the  church,  she  asks: 

'Who  is  buried  under  my  bench,  for  the  ground  has  been 
disturbed?' 

'Until  now  I  have  hidden  the  truth.  I  can  do  so  no  more.  It 
is  your  husband  who  is  buried  there. ' ' ' 

And  the  ballad  concludes: 

"La  dame  comtesse,  k  ces  mots, 
Est  tombde  k  terre  sans  connaissance; 
Elle  est  tomb^e  h.  terre  sans  connaissance, 
Et  est  morte  sur  la  place. " 

This  strangely  moving  story  seems  to  have  originated  in  the 
North,  the  Scandinavian  ballads  dealing  with  Sir  Oluf  (or  kindre<J 


28o  Notes 

name)  and  his  fatal  encounter  with  an  elf  numbering  some  seventy. 
Of  these  a  goodly  proportion,  especially  of  the  Danish  and  Swedish 
versions,  give  the  questions  of  the  young  wife  and  the  evasive 
answers.  As  the  folk-song  wandered  south  and  went  out  in  many 
forms  over  France,  Italy,  and  the  Spanish  Peninsula,  the  elfin 
adventure  was  all  but  lost,  while  the  pathetic  dialogue  became 
the  essential  of  the  ballad.  The  name  Oluf  gave  way  to  Renaud, 
Arnaud  or  Louis  in  France,  to  Anzolino,  Rinaldo,  Carlino  in 
Italy,  to  Don  Juan,  Don  Olalbo,  Don  Francisco,  Don  Pedro  in 
Spain.  Nigra  discusses  the  history  of  the  ballad  under  Morte  Oc- 
culta (No.  2i)  and  notes  resemblances  to  it  in  Mai  Feriio  (No.  22). 

COUNT  ANZOLINO 

See  note  on  preceding  ballad,  Count  Arnaud. 

THE  RING 

Nigra  gives  (No.  66)  eight  Piedmontese  versions  of  La  Pesca 
dell'  Anello  and  refers  to  this  Neapolitan  variant  as  one  of  a 
numerous  group  of  local  renderings.  Among  Miss  Jewett's 
ballad  papers  was  found  another  bit  of  Neapolitan  translation, 
taken  from  this  same  second  volume  (p.  186)  of  the  Canti  Popo- 
lari  collected  by  Casetti  e  Imbriani, — a  snatch  of  sea-song  used 
by  mothers  as  a  lullaby: 

"How  beautiful  far  out  at  sea, 

When  the  Madonna  sails  with  me, 

St.  Joseph  at  the  tiller  standing 

And  Captain  Jesus  Christ  commanding, — 

To  sail  with  angels  for  our  crew 

Far  out  upon  the  water  blue! 

Hail  to  the  sailor  and  the  sea!" 

THE   SHRINE  OF   SAN   SIMON 

The  translation  of  this  very  characteristic  Spanish  lyric,  left 
unfinished  by  Miss  Jewett,  has  been  completed  by  the  editor, — 
the  only  poem  in  the  book  with  which  such  liberty  has  been  taken. 

THE  MAIDEN   IN  THE  GARDEN   OF  LOVE 

Victor  Smith  notes  {Romania,  vii.,  61)  that  this  song  has  a 
literary,  unreal  touch  upon  it,  although  he  found  shepherds  who 


Notes  281 

knew  it.     In  its  more  usual  form,  it  closes  on  the  platonic  note 
of  the  fifth  stanza. 

THE   BIRD   MESSENGER 

As  Child  observes  (No.  96,  The  Gay  Goshawk),  birds  are  "not 
seldom  employed  as  posts  in  ballads,"  adding:  "For  a  love- 
message  of  a  general  sort,  not  involving  business,  the  nightingale 
is  usually  and  rightly  selected. "  Child  notes  that  the  falcon,  the 
dove,  and  the  parrot  all  do  ballad  errands,  and  Nigra  (under  No. 
22)  adds  to  the  list  the  lark,  the  raven,  the  eagle,  and  the  swallow. 

THE  KING'S  SON 

In  different  versions  of  this  ballad,  the  action  is  variously  lo- 
calized, but  the  idyllic  tone  is  maintained.     Miss  Jewett  notes: 
"One  listens  in  vain  in  the  British  ballad  for  such  a  strain  as 
'  The  roses  are  all  fallen, 
And  the  sage  is  witherM,' 
but  its  grace  is  characteristic  of  the  country  from  which  it  comes. " 

ADIEU,   MARGUERIDETTE 

This  fashion  of  folk-song,  sparkling  with  riddle  and  repartee  and 
involving  the  idea  of  metamorphosis,  is  discussed  by  Nigra  under 
Amor  Inevitable  (No.  59).  Amor  Inevitable  begins  with  the 
question: 

"What  will  she  do,  the  beauty,  to  flee  from  love?" 
and  then  the  suitor's  swift  retorts  pursue  the  flight  of  her  fancy 
from  dove  that  the  hunter  will  take,  to  eel  that  the  fisher  will 
catch,  to  rosebush-hidden  thorn  that  the  nightingale  will  find, 
to  cloistered  nun  that  the  friar  will  confess,  even  to  the  dead  that 
the  grave  will  embrace.  Southern  Europe  abounds  in  dainty, 
whimsical  variants,  the  Roumanian  Cuckoo  and  Dove  (Alecsandri, 
No.  vii.)  being  peculiarly  individual,  but  the  direct  representative 
of  the  class  in  British  balladry  (The  Twa  Magicians,  Child,  No. 
44)  is  poor  and  gross.  The  literary  type  is  more  happily  suggested 
by  Riddles  Wisely  Expounded  (Child,  No.  l).  The  Elfin  Knight 
(Child,  No.  2),  and  The  Gardener  (Child,  No.  219),  while  the  ele- 
ment of  successive  transformations  makes  a  fleeting  connection 
with  Tarn  Lin  (Child,  No.  39)  and  The  Earl  of  Mar's  Daughter 
(Child,  No.  270). 


282  Notes 

DONNA  LOMBARDA 

Nigra  opens  his  Canti  del  Piemonte  with  this  powerfully  tragic 
ballad,  of  which  he  gives  no  less  than  sixteen  versions.  From 
Piedmont  the  song  has  made  its  way  over  all  Italy.  Not 
mentioned  in  print  until  1838,  it  is  now  familiar  to  students  of 
folksong  everywhere.  Miss  Jewett,  who  discusses  it  in  her  Intro- 
duction to  this  collection,  counted  it  the  most  dramatic  of  all 
ballads. 

THE   POISONED   LOVER 

This  dialogue  ballad,  whose  great  British  analogues  are  Lord 
Randal  (Child,  No.  12)  and  Edward  Edward  (Child,  No.  13),  has 
been  popular  in  Italy  for  some  three  hundred  years.  Its  opening 
lines,  together  with  an  epitome  of  the  tragedy,  figure  in  a  medley 
printed  in  a  Veronese  broadside  in  1629.  As  the  ballad  makes  its 
way  north,  a  tendency  has  appeared,  especially  in  Germany,  to 
change  the  dramatis  personce.  The  central  fact  of  poisoning  by 
serving  up  for  food  snakes  in  guise  of  eels  or  other  fish  persists, 
but  it  is  often  a  stepmother,  or  step-aunt,  or  step-grandmother, 
or  mother-in-law,  or  sister-in-law  who  thus  murders  a  helpless 
child  or  a  bride. 

THE   MAIDEN   OF   SAINT-MARTIN-DE-L'ILE 

With  this  French  ballad  our  Young  Johnstone  (Child,  No.  88) 
has  some  features  of  resemblance,  but  is  hardly  a  genuine  ana- 
logue. As  Miss  Jewett  notes:  " The  assertion  that  human  blood 
on  the  weapon  or  the  clothing  of  a  murderer  is  the  blood  of  some 
animal  is  found  elsewhere  in  ballads."  Pointing  out  that,  in 
comparison  with  Young  Johnstone,  the  French  ballad  is  greatly 
weakened  by  its  appeal  to  legal  justice.  Miss  Jewett  says:  "The 
brother  of  the  murdered  woman  meets  the  murderer  and  accuses 
him,  but  instead  of  striking  him  down  where  he  stands,  goes 
tamely  to  court  and  begs  for  punishment  of  the  murderer  and  of 
the  wicked  old  mother  who  urged  him  on. "  Against  this  staid 
behavior  she  places  that  of  Lord  Thomas  (Child,  No.  73  D)  who, 
when  the  brown  bride's  stab  has  slain  Fair  Annet,  "takes  the 
vengeance  of  a  mad  heart. " 

"Lord  Thomas  he  had  a  sword  by  his  side, 

As  he  walked  about-the  hall; 
He  cut  off  the  bride's  head  from  her  shoulders. 

And  he  threw  it  against  the  wall." 


Notes  283 

THE   MURDER   OF  THE   SWEETHEART 

This  "fine  and  cruel  ballad, "  as  Miss  Jewett  styles  it,  represents 
a  class  very  numerous  on  the  Continent.  (See  Nigra  under 
La  Moglie  Uccisa,  No.  29.)  Victor  Smith  printed  with  this  in 
Romania  (vol.  x.,pp.  194-21 1)  fourteen  more  French  folk-songs 
of  bloodshed,  recounting  murder  of  husband,  father,  sister,  child, 
and  other  peculiarly  startling  and  revolting  crimes. 

FAIR  JEANNETON 

In  another  French  version  of  this  ballad  (given  by  J.  F.  Champ- 
fleury  in  Chansons  Populaires  des  Provinces  de  France,  p.  172) 
there  flashes  out  in  the  dying  lover  something  of  the  same  quality 
that  illumines  this.  With  a  care,  even  in  his  drowning  struggle, 
for  the  maiden's  safe  return,  he  asks:  "Who  will  conduct  you, 
my  Beautiful,  back  to  your  father's  castle?"  Her  reply,  even 
by  ballad  standards,  lacks  amiability.  "It  will  not  be  you, 
wicked  baron,  for  the  fishes  will  have  eaten  you!"  And,  unre- 
lenting, she  calls  to  a  fislie.man  to  be  her  escort  home.  The 
"penknife"  figures  in  ah  balladry,  especially  in  the  English  and 
the  German.     See  following  note  on  A  Heroine. 

A   HEROINE 

Miss  Jewett  notes:  "Prof.  Child  says  that  no  ballad  in  all  his 
collection  is  so  widely  distributed  as  the  various  versions  of  Lady 
Isabel  and  the  Elf-Knight  (No.  4).  In  many  folio  pages  he  cites  the 
analogues,  Norse,  Swedish,  Danish,  German,  French,  Italian, 
Spanish,  Polish,  Slavic  and  the  rest.  Collected,  these  variants  of 
the  one  theme  would  make  a  huge  volume.  The  fact  of  the 
wicked  wooer  being  elfin,  a  wonder-worker,  seems  non-essential 
to  the  plot.  The  essential  is  his  Bluebeard  character,  and  the 
fact  that,  at  last,  vengeance  overtakes  him  at  the  hand  of  one 
whom  he  would  have  added  to  his  long  list  of  victims."  Nigra 
(No.  13)  counts  among  the  parallels  of  this  ballad  the  French 
Fair  Jeanneton  (preceding)  and  the  Spanish  Rico  Franco  (follow- 
ing). Child  notes  (vol.  i.,  p.  42)  that  the  French  versions  are 
"generally  found  in  a  form  resembling  the  English;  that  is  to  say, 
the  scene  of  the  attempted  murder  is  the  sea  or  a  river  (as  in  no 
other  but  the  Polish),  and  the  lady  delivers  herself  by  an  artifice.  " 
Child  hesitates  to  accept  Professor  Sophus  Bugge's  "entirely 


284  Notes 

novel  and  somewhat  startling  hypothesis  that  all  this  great  group 
of  ballads  constitutes  a  wild  shoot  from  the  story  of  Judith  and 
Holof  ernes. " 

THE   BALLAD  OF   RICO   FRANCO 

See  preceding  note  on  A  Heroine. 

According  to  Child  (vol.  i.,  p.  44),  Rico  Franco  is  the  earliest 
ballad  on  this  almost  universal  theme  to  be  printed  in  any 
language. 

COUNT  GARI 

The  collectors  were  able  to  find  only  one  version  of  this  very 
spirited  ballad. 

LAMENT   OF   MARIA  FELICE   DI   CALACUCCIA  FOR 
THE   DEATH   OF  HER   BROTHER 

Marcaggi  notes:  "Les  deux  derniers  vers  de  ce  vocero  servent 
d'^pigraphe  au  beau  Hvre  de  Prosper  Merim^e,  Colombo. " 

THE   MARQUISE 

This  ballad,  which  Blad^  believes  to  relate  to  Madame  de 
Montespan,  is  another  proof,  he  says,  of  the  rapidity  with  which 
historic  events  are  transformed  into  legends.  He  points  out  that 
the  marquisate  of  Montespan  was  not  in  the  Baise  valley,  but  lay 
a  little  farther  to  the  west,  where  the  ruins  of  the  chateau  may 
still  be  seen. 

BUJOR 

(See  note  on  The  Sun  and  the  Moon;  also  Introduction.) 
This  Roumanian  ballad  is  given  in  a  French  prose  trans- 
lation by  Alecsandri,  No.  vi.  Alecsandri  comments  on  the 
great  popularity  of  the  Moldavian  Robin  Hood,  still  spoken  of 
"with  admiration  and  respect."  The  name  Bujor,  originally, 
it  would  seem,  a  nickname  meaning  Red-haired,  is  that  of  the 
bright  young  chieftain  in  Helene  Vacaresco's  Songs  of  the  Valiant 
Voivode.  Miss  Jewett  has  abridged  as  follows  another  famous 
bandit-ballad  of  Roumania  (Alecsandri,  No.  xiv.;  Codrean): 

"Codr^an  is  a  brigand  who  disguises  himself  in  a  coarse  wool 
mantle  and  a  sheepskin  cap.     But  he  is  beautiful  and  lithe.     By 


Notes  285 

a  trick  worthy  of  a  border  thief  he  wins  a  steed  so  swift  that  as  it 
runs  the  valleys  melt  under  its  feet.  When  the  guard  come  upon 
him,  he  invites  them  to  eat  of  his  'stolen'  mutton  and  to  drink 
of  his  'stolen'  wine.  Instead,  they  fire  their  pistols  full  at  his 
breast.  Codr^an  presses  the  bullets  from  his  bloody  wounds,  loads 
his  carbine  with  them,  and  returns  the  fire. 

"When  he  is  overpowered  and  taken  before  the  prince,  he  is 
asked,  as  Bujor  was  asked:  'Hast  thou  slain  many  Christians 
while  thou  hast  been  ravaging  this  country? '  '  Most  high  Prince, ' 
he  answers,  '  I  swear  by  the  name  of  the  Holy  Virgin  that  I  have 
never,  since  I  first  went  forth  as  a  brigand,  slain  Christians. 
Whenever  I  have  met  a  Christian,  I  have  shared  with  him  like  a 
brother;  if  he  possessed  two  horses,  I  have  taken  one  and  left 
him  one;  if  he  had  ten  piastres,  I  have  taken  five  and  left  him 
five;  whenever  I  have  met  a  poor  man,  I  have  hidden  my  blade 
and  filled  my  hand  with  gold  for  the  unfortunate;  but  when  I 
have  seen  a  Turk, — oh!  then  I  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  cut 
oflf  his  head  and  throw  it  to  the  crows.' 

"  Codr^an  obtains  leave  to  confess  before  he  is  executed.  He 
humbles  himself  and  says  to  the  priest  in  a  penitent  voice: 
'O  my  father,  by  thy  holiness  have  pity  upon  my  sufferings ; 
undo  my  hands  for  an  instant  that  I  may  make  the  sign  of  the 
cross.  Alas!  I  would,  before  I  die,  pray  to  God  and  fulfill  my 
duty  as  a  Christian.'  The  good  priest  unties  the  right  hand  of 
the  brigand,  who  suddenly  draws  from  his  breast  a  jewel  of  a 
dagger;  he  cuts  the  bands  that  imprison  his  feet;  he  slays  the 
guard;  he  cries  to  his  horse,  who,  hearing  his  voice,  breaks  from 
the  stable  and  runs  to  him  without  bridle  or  saddle;  joyous  and 
proud,  the  steed  scarcely  touches  the  earth;  it  flies,  mane  and 
nostrils  to  the  wind.  The  happy  Codr^an  caresses  his  horse, 
springs  swiftly  upon  it,  hurls  himself  across  the  troop  of  guards, 
leaps  the  wall  of  stone,  and  cries  as  he  leaps  it: 

"'To  thee.  Prince,  the  throne;  to  me,  liberty  and  daring. 
Adieu,  thou  art  not  worthy  of  Codr^n.'" 

THE   BROTHERS   FRA   DIAVOLI 

Pitrd  notes:  "The  so-called  Devil  Brothers  were  Ambrogio  and 
Antonino  Buzzetta.  These  devoted  brothers,  through  their 
robberies  and  even  more  through  the  mad  recklessness  of  their 
enterprises,  always  eluding  the  vigilance  of  the  law,  left  their 
nickname  a  proverbial  phrase  in  Sicily. "     He  adds  that  the  blind 


286  Notes 

street-singers  all  know  this  ballad  and  that  to  him  it  seems  to  bear 
marks  of  an  unlettered  author. 

The  prison  escape  of  the  Fra  Diavoli  calls  to  mind  the  dashing 
ballad  (Child,  No.  i86)  of  Kinmont  Willie. 

THE   THREE   STUDENTS   OP  TOULOUSE 

Child,  in  his  discussion  of  The  Clerk's  Twa  Sons  o  Owsenford 
(No.  72),  notes  this  Toulouse  folk-song  among  others,  saying: 
"There  are  ballads  both  in  Northern  and  in  Southern  Europe 
which  have  a  certain  amount  of  likeness  with  'The  Clerk's  Twa 
Sons,'  but  if  the  story  of  all  derives  from  one  original,  time  has 
introduced  great  and  even  unusual  variations." 

Nigra  states  (under  No.  4)  that  versions  of  The  Three  Students 
have  been  published  in  Provengal,  French,  and  Catalan,  as  well 
as  Piedmontese.  The  ballad,  in  his  view,  was  "certainly  born  in 
France  and  perhaps  upon  the  benches  of  the  school  at  Toulouse. " 
The  story  goes  that  on  Easter  of  1331  or  1335  some  students  of 
Toulouse,  led  by  Americo  di  B^renger,  ran  in  noisy  frolic  through 
the  streets  of  the  city  at  the  very  hour  when  High  Mass  was  being 
celebrated  in  the  church.  A  scandalized  dignitary,  attended  by 
an  officer,  came  out  and  laid  hands  upon  the  ringleaders.  Americo, 
to  free  a  comrade,  struck  this  great  personage  in  the  face.  The 
city  was  in  tumult,  the  young  culprits  were  seized  and  thrown  into 
prison,  and  Americo,  with  one  other,  subjected  to  the  torture, — 
all  by  way  of  keeping  a  holy  Easter.  Under  the  torture  Americo 
"confessed,  "  and  his  head,  after  it  had  been  shaved  to  cancel  the 
tonsure,  was  struck  off  by  the  public  executioner.  Not  only  his 
kinsfolk  but  all  decent  society  protested  in  horror  against  such 
treatment  of  a  scholar  and  a  noble.  Parliament  punished 
Toulouse  by  suspending  all  its  liberties  and  privileges  and  con- 
fiscating the  property  of  its  inhabitants.  A  magnificent  funeral 
was  given  "the  martyr. "  The  dignitaries  of  the  city  and  church 
abased  themselves  in  vain.  They  themselves  bore  the  mutilated 
body  on  its  sumptuous  bier  to  the  grave  and  humbly  entreated 
the  pardon  of  the  populace,  but  they  were  promptly  deposed, 
and  the  students  of  Toulouse  lived  happy  ever  after. 

THE   LADS   OF   GUERANDE 

This  blithe  lilt  suggests  that  magic  power  of  music  known  to 
folk-lore  since  Orpheus  and  Amphion.     Our  British  balladry  has 


Notes  287 

traces  of  it  in  King  Estmere  (Child,  No.  60)  and  Glasgerion  (Child, 
No.  67)  as  well  as  in  the  confused  verses  of  The  Twa  Brothers. 
"She  put  the  small  pipes  to  her  mouth, 
And  she  harped  both  far  and  near, 
Till  she  harped  the  small  birds  off  the  briers, 
And  her  true  love  out  of  his  grave. " 

(Child,  No.  49  B.) 
The  most  beautiful  example  in  Southern  folk-song  is  the  Cas- 
tilian  Count  Arnaldos,  but  this,  though  of  more  mystical  quality, 
is  akin  to  The  Sailor  and  The  Corsair  rather  than  to  The  Lads  of 
Guerande,  whose  closer  parallel  is  the  Piedmontese  prison-song 
Poier  del  Canto  (Nigra,  No.  47). 

SHALGA 

This  ballad  is  rendered  into  French  prose  by  Alecsandri 
(No.  xix.,  Chalga).  See  Introduction,  and  note  on  The  Sun  and 
the  Moon. 

The  figure  of  this  fierce  young  shepherdess,  astride  her  rushing 
steed,  is  typical  of  the  wild  fighting  energy  of  Roumania.  In  the 
very  road  of  the  northern  migrations,  crossed  again  and  again  by 
the  invading  Asiatic  hordes,  the  battle-ground  of  Hungarians, 
Poles,  Turks,  Tartars,  Muscovites,  no  wonder  that  Roumania 
has  fostered  heroines  as  well  as  heroes.  The  bond  between  a 
Roumanian  and  his  horse  is  well  illustrated  by  a  passage  from 
the  ballad  of  The  Roumanian  Groue  Grozovan  (Alecsandri,  ix.) 
which  Miss  Jewett  has  paraphrased  as  follows: 

"The  old  Tartar  Khan  whose  horse  has  been  stolen  by  a  Rou- 
manian bandit,  says  sadly  to  the  thief: 

" '  Oh !  Grou^ !  famous  heiduck !  I  pardon  thee,  but  promise  me 
that  thou  wilt  never  sell  my  black  horse  to  a  mountaineer;  the 
mountaineers  are  men  of  tricks.  Sell  it  to  a  Moldave;  the  Mol- 
davL's  are  richer,  more  generous;  they  have  prouder  spirits.  A 
Moldave  would  take  care  of  this  beautiful  horse,  to  parade  it  at 
f6tes  and  weddings,  and  if  some  day  I  meet  it,  its  master  may 
make  me  a  present  of  it,  or  at  least  give  it  to  me  for  thrice  its 
weight  in  gold  paid  in  Venetian  ducats  worth  five  piastres  the 
ducat.' 

"Grou^  answers  smiling: 

'"Poor  old  Ghirai,  thou  forgettest  that  I  am  the  son  of  a 


288  Notes 

Roumanian.     Now,  since  I  am  son  of  a  Roumanian,  dost  thou 
not  know  that  this  brave  strong  horse  is  my  own  brother? ' " 

THE   FLIGHT   INTO   EGYPT 

For  British  ballads  based  upon  Scriptural  and  Apocryphal 
subjects,  see  Introduction. 

The  Catholic  countries  have  cherished,  in  song  and  ballad, 
many  a  quaint  and  tender  legend  of  the  Nativity.  The  courteous 
tree  that  bent  its  fruitful  boughs  to  Mary,  an  apple-tree  in  this 
Provengal  telling,  is  a  cherry-tree  in  the  English  ballad,  elsewhere 
a  fig-tree,  elsewhere  a  date-palm.  Southern  France  and  Spain 
abound,  even  more  than  Italy,  in  well-beloved  legends  of  Ma- 
donna and  Child.  Damase  Arbaud  noted  (1862)  that  The  Flight 
into  Egypt  was  still  sometimes  sung  by  the  peasants  of  Provence 
before  the  crhches  in  the  churches.  Among  Miss  Jewett's  ballad- 
papers  were  found  the  following  renderings,  penciled  and 
unrevised,  of  such  Nativity  folk-songs. 

THE  THREE  KINGS  OF  THE  ORIENT 

(.Sicilian.     Palermo) 

(From  Pitre,  G.:  Canti  Popolari  Siciliani,  vol.  il.,  pp.  331  seq.) 

Upon  the  holy  night  of  the  first  Christmas, 

A  star  appeared  in  the  Eastern  sky  a-shining; 

Among  themselves  said  the  three  Eastern  Mages: 

"To  us  is  born  Messiah,  we  are  contented." 

For  thirty  days  with  the  one  thought  they  travelled, 

Following  the  star  in  the  Eastern  sky  a-shining. 

And  came  at  last  to  a  cave  in  the  country, 

And  found  Christ  folded  in  the  arms  of  Mary. 

The  first  who  spoke  was  the  king  Caspar,  saying: 

"O  very  son  of  the  eternal  Father, 

How  art  thou  come  down  tathis  poorest  country, 

Thou  who  art  Lord  of  squadrons  of  bright  Angels? 

Now  I  am  come  with  these  my  good  companions, 

We  are  come  journeying  from  a  far  country ; 

Oh,  pardon  me:  I  bring  thee  this  gold  treasure. 

That  may  make  rich  my  soul  when  I  am  dying. " 

Oh,  how  accepted  and  how  nobly  worthy 

The  tears  that  then  were  shed  by  Baldassare! 


Notes  289 

Saying:   "O  God  of  the  Celestial  Choirs, 

Oh,  take  away  my  sins,  for  I  am  guilty. 

I  bring  Thee  incense  here  to  do  Thee  service, 

A  sacrifice  I  make  most  rare  and  precious; 

I  bring  Thee  incense  here,  O  my  Redeemer, 

O  Thou  High  Priest  and  very  God  and  Saviour. " 

And  last  of  all  came  Melchior  and  offered ; 

Sweet  frankincense  and  myrrh  he  offered,  weeping: 

"Take  thou  this  precious  myrrh,  take  it,  my  Jesus, 

Because  thy  wounds  and  sorrows  shall  be  many." 

When  Mary  all  their  precious  gifts  had  taken, 

She  undressed  the  little  Baby  Christ  before  them. 

They  kissed  the  tiny  feet  of  the  Child,  weeping. 

And  thus  they  would  take  leave  of  Him,  all  weeping. 

An  Angel  of  the  Lord  appeared  before  them: 

"O  noble  Kings,  change  roads  for  your  returning; 

For  if  word  comes  to  murderous  King  Herod, 

He  will  slay  the  Child  upon  the  breast  of  Mary." 

Then  the  three  Kings  adored  the  Baby  Jesus, 

And  bade  farewell  to  Joseph  and  to  Mary; 

And  toward  their  homes  another  road  they  journeyed. 

Even  as  the  Angel  of  the  Lord  commanded. 


THE  THREE  KINGS 

(Catalan) 
(From  Briz,  E.  P.:  Cansons  de  la  Terra,  vol.  iv.,  pp.  i79  seq.) 

The  light  of  a  star  shining 

They  see  it  far  and  wide; 

The  sun  cannot  dim  it, 

The  clouds  cannot  hide. 
Shepherds  and  sages, 
Seers  of  Bethlehem, 
Leave  watching  and  folding, 
Men  of  Bethlehem; 
Make  haste  now,  beholding 
How  bright  the  star's  light. 
The  star's  light. 


290  Notes 

The  star  in  its  travel 
To  Bethlehem  went; 
This  is  a  marvel 
Of  the  Omnipotent. 

Guided  by  the  star's  shining, 
Eager  and  attent, 
There  are  seen  coming 
Three  Kings  of  Orient. 

Eager  and  watchful, 
The  star  leading  them, 
Three  Kings  are  seen  coming 
Far  off  toward  Bethlehem. 

The  Three  Kings  are  coming 
From  out  the  Orient 
To  see  and  to  worship 
This  new  divine  portent. 
With  camels  and  pages 
Come  riding  the  Three  Kings; 
With  big  bells  of  silver 
Every  bridle  rings. 

Shepherds  and  sages, 

Seers  of  Bethlehem, 

Leave  watching  and  folding, 

Men  of  Bethlehem; 

Make  haste  now,  beholding 

How  bright  the  star's  light, 
The  star's  light. 

Many  of  the  cradle-songs  of  Southern  Europe  derive  their 
especial  beauty  from  the  memory  of  the  Madonna,  like  the 
Neapolitan  one  cited  in  the  note  on  The  Ring,  and  like  this  of 
Sicily,  also  in  Miss  Jewett's  rendering: 

"My  little  child,  so  sweet  to  me, 
I  am  the  honey,  thou  the  bee; 
So  sweet  was  never  any  other 

But  the  Baby  Jesus  to  his  mother; 


Notes  291 

"Thou  art  the  Hght,  the  stars,  the  sun, 
My  little  child,  most  lovely  one! 
I  make  the  cradle  soft  and  deep, 
And  lay  thee  lightly  do'mi  to  sleep. — 
Lulla-by!" 

MARY   MAGDALENE 

See  Introduction  for  the  treatment  of  the  Magdalen  in  folk- 
song. 

In  the  late  ISIiracle  Drama  of  England  is  a  play,  preserved  in 
a  manuscript  of  the  early  sixteenth  century,  of  Mary  Magdalen. 
Through  fifty-one  rambling  scenes  it  carries  her  life  on  to  the 
cavern  where  she  lived  thirty  years  in  penitence,  being  thrice  a 
day  lifted  up  into  the  clouds  and  fed  with  manna.  The  English 
view  of  the  Magdalen  is  not  always  so  kindly.  At  Launceston 
in  Cornwall,  for  instance,  where  the  outer  walls  of  the  great 
granite  church  are  covered  with  elaborate  carving,  the  sculptured 
figure  of  Mary  Magdalene  at  the  west  end  is  regularly — this 
alone  among  all  the  figures — stoned  by  the  boys,  so  that  flints 
and  pebbles  are  lodged  all  over  the  poor  image,  which  lies  on  its 
face  in  an  attitude  of  extreme  dejection. 

SAINT  MARY  MAGDALENE 

See  preceding  note  on  Mary  Magdalene. 

The  presence  of  St.  John  at  the  funeral  is  natural,  for  the 
medieval  legend  includes  John,  who  is  said  to  have  been  Mary 
Magdalene's  first  lover.  Her  chagrin  and  grief,  when  he  forsook 
her  to  follow  the  Christ,  drove  her  into  a  life  of  open  sin. 

THE   SAMARITAN   WOMAN 

See  Introduction  for  the  place  of  the  Samaritan  woman  in 
folk-lore.  The  identification  of  her  with  the  Alagdalen  is  dis- 
cussed, also,  by  Child  under  The  Maid  and  the  Palmer  (No.  21). 
Certain  variants  of  this  Catalan  ballad  close  more  austerely,  with 
threat  of  Hell  in  case  the  woman  returns  to  a  life  of  sin. 

THE  WICKED   RICH   MAN 

See  Introduction  for  the  characters  of  Dives  and  Lazarus  in 
folk-song. 

Arbaud  states  in  1862  that  this  was  the  favorite  ballad  of  the 


292  Notes 

Provencal  peasantry, — that  it  was  still  not  uncommon,  in  certain 
districts  of  Provence,  to  hear  old  beggars,  going  from  door  to  door, 
recite  this  ballad  in  a  solemn  and  melancholy  tone.  Among  the 
mendicants  of  the  Spanish  Peninsula,  too,  its  variants  are  very 
popular. 

Miss  Jewetthas,  in  the  next  to  the  last  stanza  of  this  ballad, 
substituted  in  her  text  the  reading  as  given  in  Cansons  de  la  Terra 
for  that  of  Arbaud,  which  is: 

"Prend  lou,  trai  lou  es  oundos 

Es  oundos  de  I'lnfer. " 
"Hai!  paure  iou!  sur  terro 

N'en  ai  pas  proun  suflfert. " 

Arbaud  adds  two  more  stanzas  which  apply  the  moral: 

Se  d'aqueou  marri  riche 

Vouretz  h'aver  lou  sort, 
Donnetz  I'oumoin'  es  paures; 

A  I'honro  de  la  mort 

L'oumoino  qu'auretz  fasho 

Cumptara  davant  Diou 
Mai  qu'em  autro  bonen'  obro, 

Fouguessiatz-ti  judiou. 

This  ballad  may  well  be  compared  with  La  Madonna  e  II 
Riccone  translated  into  English  verse  by  Francesca  Alexander  in 
Roadside  Songs  of  Tuscany. 

THE  WICKED  RICH  MAN  AND  THE  BEGGAR 

See  preceding  note  on  The  Wicked  Rtch  Man. 

The  simplicity  and  comparative  brevity  of  the  Catalan  versions 
of  the  Dives  story  are  so  marked  that  it  is  thought  by  folk-lore 
scholars  they  may  have  developed  out  of  cradle-songs. 

THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

On  this  sacred  ditty,  sung  by  the  Sicilians  as  lightly  as  their 
lays  of  brigandage  and  of  romantic  love,  see  Miss  Jewett's  com- 
ment in  the  Introduction. 


Notes  293 

ST.   JAMES   OF   GALICIA 

The  shrine  of  Santiago  in  the  northwestern  corner  of  Spain, 
still  the  goal  of  pilgrimage,  was  the  third  in  rank  of  medieval 
Christendom.  Indeed,  the  cockle-shell  of  St.  James  has  out- 
stripped, as  a  pilgrim  symbol,  the  keys  of  Rome  and  even  the 
cross  of  Jerusalem. 

The  miracle  of  the  reanimated  cock  is  found,  also,  in  ballads 
of  the  Nativity,  as  St.  Stephen  and  Herod  (Child,  No.  23)  and  The 
Carnal  and  the  Crane  (Child,  No.  55).  Its  use  in  that  connection 
Miss  Jewett  sometimes  illustrated  in  her  classroom  by  the  follow- 
ing stanzas  from  a  Danish  version  of  St.  Stephen  and  Herod  as 
translated  by  Prior  (in  Ancient  Danish  Ballads,  vol.  i.,  p.  398). 

St.  Stephen  saw  the  star's  bright  shine, 

As  he  his  horses  drave; 
"Of  truth  is  now  the  Prophet  born. 

Who  all  the  world  shall  save." 

"On  Stephen's  tale,"  King  Herod  said, 

"No  faith  will  I  bestow. 
Unless  this  roasted  cock  stand  up 

And  clap  his  wings  and  crow. " 

Straight  clapp'd  his  wings  the  cock,  and  crow'd, 

"Our  Lord  is  bom  to-night." 
From  off  his  throne  King  Herod  fell, 

And  swoon'd  away  for  fright. 

Up  rose  the  King,  and  mounted  horse, 

To  Bethlehem  town  to  ride; 
He  fain  that  little  child  would  kill. 

Who  all  his  power  defied. 

But  Mary  took  in  arms  her  babe, 

Joseph  his  ass's  rein. 
And  so  through  Jewish  land  they  rode 

To  Egypt's  sandy  plain. 

Full  fourteen  thousand  babies  small 

The  tyrant  caused  to  slay; 
Jesus,  ere  sank  the  sun  to  rest. 

Was  thirty  miles  away. 


294  Notes 

"The  ultimate  source  of  the  miracle  of  the  reanimated  cock," 
says  Prof.  Child  (vol.  i.,  p.  239),  "is  an  interpolation  in  two  late 
Greek  manuscripts  of  the  so-called  Gospel  of  Nicodemus:  Thilo, 
Codex  Apocryphus  Novi  Testamenti,  p.  cxxix  /. ;  Tischendorf, 
Evangelia  Apocrypha,  p.  269,  note  3."  "The  crowing  cock," 
Miss  Jewett  notes,  "occurs  here  in  the  story  of  Judas  and  is  found 
thus  in  the  Cursor  Mundi,  vv.  15961-998." 

That  an  innocent  victim  of  the  gallows  or  the  cross  should  be 
sustained  by  angels  is,  too,  a  familiar  miracle  in  folk-song. 

A  paraphrase  of  this  ballad,  expanded  and  addressed  to  children, 
was  made  by  Robert  Southey  under  title  The  Ptlgrim  to  Com- 
postella. 

COUNT  ARNOLD 

For  this  and  for  all  the  ballads  following,  see  Introduction  on  the 
element  of  the  supernatural  in  folk-song. 

Mild  states  (in  Ohservaciones  sobre  la  Poesia  Popular,  con  Mues- 
tras  de  Romanes  Catalanes  Inedtios)  that  there  are  few  traditions 
in  Catalonia  so  vivid  and  so  sharply  localized  as  this  of  Count 
Arnold.  Most  of  the  ghost-features  of  the  ballad, — the  spirit 
clad  in  the  flames  of  its  burning,  the  sudden,  midnight  entrance 
through  grated  windows,  the  summoning  cock-crow,  the  longing 
of  the  tortured  soul  to  look  again  upon  what  was  once  its  own, — 
are  of  world-wide  familiarity,  but  the  horse's  peculiar  taste  in 
fodder  may  arrest  attention.  A  horse  resembling  him  somewhat 
in  this  respect  may  be  found  in  H^lene  Vacaresco's  Songs  of  the 
Valiant  Voivode  in  the  ballad  of  The  Four  Princesses  and  their 
Crimson  Slippers. 

THE  SONG   OF  THE   LOST   SOUL 

This  is  an  interesting  variant  of  the  Dives  theme,  for  in  the  case 
of  this  rich  man  doomed  to  hell  it  is  not  the  refusal  of  alms  that 
is  charged  against  him,  but  the  persistent  withholding  of  pay- 
ments due  to  workingmen  and  tradespeople.  Count  Arnold,  too, 
whose  gold  was  "ill-gotten,"  suggests  in  his  cautions  to  his  lady 
that  he  had  been  remiss  in  paying  wages.     (See  preceding  ballad.) 

THE  YOUNG   GIRL  AND   HER   MOTHER'S   SOUL 

Two  versions  of  this  ballad  were  contributed  to  M.  Luzel  by 
Breton  peasant  women.     The  ballad  given  is  the   one  directly 


Notes  295 

used  by  Miss  Jewett,  but  her  translation  is  colored  by  the  other, 
whose  title  it  takes  and  whose  fuller  account  does  much  to  ration- 
alize the  story, — so  far  as  a  ghost-story  may  ask  to  be  rationalized. 
It  seems  that  the  daughter's  longing  to  see  her  mother  was  met 
by  the  priest's  suggestion  that  she  await,  in  the  church,  the  hour 
when  spirits  walk,  and  lay  an  apron  on  her  mother's  tomb.  But  the 
daughter's  excessive  grief  had  so  enhanced  the  mother's  torments 
that  the  furious  ghost  tore  the  first  apron  into  nine  pieces,  the 
second  into  six,  and  the  third  into  three,  and  might,  after  the 
fashion  of  furious  ghosts  (see  Child's  discussion  in  connection 
with  The  Suffolk  Miracle,  No.  272),  have  torn  her  daughter  into 
pieces  likewise,  had  not  the  girl  meanwhile  stood  godmother  to  a 
sister's  child  and  given  it  their  mother's  name. 

The  midnight  procession  of  the  dead  is  still  looked  for  with 
terror  in  many  a  peasant  home  of  Southern  Europe.  In  Galicia 
it  is  often  merely  a  line  of  shining  tapers  that  walk  the  darkness, — 
tapers  that  have  a  way  of  pausing  under  open  windows  while  the 
foremost  begs  to  be  taken  in  and  kept  safe  till  morning.  Should 
you  comply,  the  dawn  discloses  a  wax-cold  corpse  lying  where  the 
taper  had  been,  and  at  midnight  the  terrible  candles  return  to 
claim  their  leader  and  burn  you  "to  fire  and  ashes." 

THE   DEAD   MOTHER   RESTORED 

'  Nigra  states  (under  No.  39)  that  fuller  versions  of  this  ballad 
have  been  found  in  French  and  Provengal.  In  these,  the  neglected 
children  go  to  the  cemetery  to  find  their  mother  and  meet  on  the 
way  Christ  or  Peter  or  John,  by  whose  miraculous  word  the 
mother  is  restored  to  care  for  her  little  ones  for  seven  years,  or 
for  seven  years  and  a  day,  or  for  fifteen  years.  At  the  expiration 
of  the  allotted  period  she  tells  her  children,  weeping,  that  she 
must  return  to  her  grave,  and  they,  striving  to  comfort  her,  go 
with  her  to  the  very  brink. 

THE  MOTHER'S  CURSE 

This  ballad  is  very  popular  in  Italy.  Nigra  (under  No.  23) 
prints  six  versions  and  lists  a  number  of  others.  The  general 
theme  of  the  fatal  power  of  a  mother's  curse  is  not  unfamiliar  to 
Northern  folk-song,  but  is  embodied  in  different  incidents.  Our 
nearest  British  parallel  is  The  Mother's  Malison,  or,  Clyde's 
Water  (Child,  No.  216). 


296  Notes 

THE   ACCURSED 

Transformation  plays  a  considerable  part  in  folk-lore  every- 
where. The  maiden  who  puts  on  the  shape  of  a  white  hind  to 
sport  in  the  forest,  the  maiden  whom  the  silver  wand  of  a  witch 
has  turned  into  "an  ugly  worm,"  the  maiden  enchanted  by  her 
wicked  stepmother  into  "a  fiery  snake,"  are  old  acquaintances, 
but  this  French  case  of  the  blacksmith's  daughter  accursed  into 
a  mule  has  apparently  no  parallel  in  British  balladry. 

THE   VOICE   FROM   UNDERGROUND 

Miss  Jewett  translated  this  most  poignant  poem  from  the 
Italian  of  Tommaseo.  It  is  rendered  into  French,  too,  by 
Fauriel  in  his  Chants  Populaires  de  la  Grece  (vol.  ii.,  p.  401).  In 
this  same  volume  of  the  Chants  Populaires  (p.  433)  Miss  Jewett 
came  upon  a  Greek  cradle-song  and,  at  first  reading,  it  would 
seem,  began  to  write  it  out,  in  rhyme  or  not,  as  it  came  to  her, 
but  inevitably  in  rhythm.  It  was  found  unfinished  among  her 
ballad-papers. 

"Sleep,  bring  my  son  to  me! 

I  have  given  him  three  sentinels, — 

Three  sentinels,  three  guardians, 

And  strong  are  all  the  three. 

For  guardian  upon  the  mountains, 

I  have  given  him  the  Sun ; 

For  guardian  on  the  plains,  the  eagle; 

And  on  the  sea  the  fresh  North  Wind." 

The  Sun  sets,  and  the  Eagle  sleeps. 

And  the  North  Wind  goes  to  his  Mother. 

"My  little  one,  where  wert  thou  yesterday, 
And  where  the  day  before,  and  through  the  nights? 
Wert  thou  perchance  in  talk  upon  thy  way 
With  sun  and  moon  and  with  Orion's  lights?" 

THE   LITTLE   LAMB 

This  Roumanian  ballad  was  first  found  by  Miss  Jewett  in 
the  French  prose  of  Alecsandri  {La  Petite  Brebis,  Miorita,  No.  i). 
See  Introduction,  and  note  on  The  Sun  and  the  Moon.     Alecsandri 


Notes  297 

states  that  the  close  of  the  ballad  is  lacking  and  that  all  his  efforts 
to  recover  it  were  fruitless. 

The  loving  relations  between  the  Roumanians  and  their  animals 
is  illustrated  by  the  tradition  that  the  river  Moldava  and  the  land 
Moldavia  were  so  named  by  a  Roumanian  chief  after  his  faith- 
ful hound  Molda.  A  passage  in  Hdene  Vacaresco's  Songs  of  the 
Valiant  Voivode  (p.  41)  is  of  double  significance  in  its  bearing 
upon  this  ballad: 

"Dost  thou  know  the  way  to  the  moon,  O  shepherd? 

Dost  thou  not  regret  the  earth, 

And  thy  dog,  and  thy  sheep,  and  thy  mantle, 

And  the  mountains  where  the  bears  are  black?" 

"Give  me  thy  kiss.     I  '11  die  and  take  thy  message  to  the  moon; 

But  please,  white  fairj-,  don't  tell  my  dog, 

Don't  tell  my  sheep  and  my  mantle 

That  I  am  dead. 

Tell  them  I  'm  betrothed  to  the  fairy 

Who  lives  in  the  distant  moon. " 

The  longing  of  the  shepherd  to  lie,  in  death  as  in  life,  within 
hearing  of  his  flock,  is  like  the  prayer  of  the  Greek  sailor  noted 
down  by  Miss  Jewett  from  Tommaseo's  Canti  (vol.  iii.,  p.  321): 

"  The  sailor  dying  at  sea  prays:  '  That  they  may  not  bury  me  in 
church  nor  monastery,  but  at  the  edge  of  the  shore,  down  there 
in  the  sand.  There  the  sailors  come,  and  I  shall  hear  their 
voices.'" 

Though  the  Roumanians  have  a  folk-saying,  "The  Roumanian 
never  dies,"  many  of  their  songs  are  songs  of  desperate  courage 
in  the  face  of  death.  Two  of  these,  which  Miss  Jewett  trans- 
lated from  the  German  of  SchuUer,  stand  here  in  evidence: 

THE  SOLDIER'S  FAREWELL 

MAIDEN 

Sweetheart,  thou  goest;  if  thou  must  go  indeed, 
What  shall  become  of  me,  in  my  great  need? 


My  little  darling,  luck  shall  come  to  thee; 
Take  heart,  for  there  are  many  lads  like  me. 


298  Notes 


Let  all  the  lads  stand  up  here  in  a  line; 

Without  thee,  they  are  nothing,  Love  of  mine! 

Let  all  the  lads  stand  up  here  file  by  file, 

I  know  to  whom  my  heart  belongs  the  while.  i 


SOLDIER 

Listen  to  me,  thou  knowest  what  must  come; 

I  can  no  longer  stay  with  thee  at  home. 

Yonder  where  I  needs  must  go. 

Mountains  rise  and  rivers  flow; 

Not  a  flower  its  white  can  keep, 

There  where  blood  runs  ankle-deep; 

Not  a  grass  blade  may  we  see 

Where  we  wade  blood  to  the  knee. 

A  dreadful  land;  dear,  seek  another  way; 

Our  loves  must  wander,  wander  from  to-day. 

THE  SOLDIER  TO  HIS  MOTHER 

Mother,  I  must  go  away 

To  be  a  soldier;  thou  wilt  stay 

And  wash  my  linen  in  thy  tears, 

And  dry  it,  weeping  bitter  tears; 

Mother,  thou  must  have  it  sent 

Yonder  to  my  regiment; 

There  where  lying  on  the  ground. 

Shot  to  death  I  shall  be  found ; 

Saber-slashed  from  foot  to  head, 

Crushed  beneath  the  horses'  tread. 

But  this  ballad  of  the  young  Moldave  is  Roumanian  in  its 
beauty  even  more  than  in  its  courage  and  its  sorrow.  It  has  a 
breath  upon  it  like  the  freshness  of  the  early  morning;  it 
touches  the  golden  borderland  of  mythology.  A  simpler  instance 
of  the  myth-making  genius  of  the  Roumanians  is  found  in  the 
ballad  of  Hercules  which  Miss  Jewett  rendered  from  the  French 
prose  of  Alecsandri  (No.  2).  This  ballad,  he  claims,  is  but  a 
personification  of  the  three  divisions  of  Dacia  (Transylvania, 
Wallacia,  and  Moldavia),  but  how  instinctive  the  imagination 
that  thus  transmutes  geography  into  poetry ! 


Notes  299 

HERCULES 

"There  were  three  maidens,  sisters,  who  went  at  the  dawn  to 
gather  flowers:  the  eldest  sister  has  followed  the  course  of  the 
Tcherna;  the  second  sister  has  entered  the  garden  on  the  bank; 
and  the  youngest,  the  wildest  of  the  three,  has  gone  up  stream 
along  the  shore.  Many  gallants,  ready  for  love,  have  followed 
their  paths,  singing  gayly,  and  have  come  back  shedding  tears; 
but  behold!  a  j^oung  and  fair  captain,  named  Hercules,  appears 
upon  the  bank.     He  pauses  and  speaks  thus  to  the  Tcherna: 

'Limpid  Tcherna!  stay  thy  course  and  speak  to  me  of  the 
three  sisters  who  went  to  gather  flowers  at  the  dawn.' 

'  The  eldest  sister  has  gone  toward  an  enchanted  region  down 
the  Danube,  beside  the  sea;  the  second  has  left  the  garden  and  is 
lost  in  the  depths  of  the  ancient  forests,  bej'ond  nine  great  moun- 
tains; the  youngest  sister,  the  wildest  of  the  three,  groans  and 
weeps  there  under  that  rock,  hidden  in  a  profound  shadow. ' 

Hercules,  the  brave  captain,  spurs  his  horse.  One  bound,  the 
bank  resounds,  and  there  he  is  beside  the  weeping  rock. 

'Come  forth  from  the  rock,  maiden;  appear  to  me.' 

'Alas!  how  shall  I  come  out  from  the  rock  since  I  am  naked? 
I  fear  the  Sun,  I  fear  to  be  absorbed  by  his  rays.' 

'Have  no  fear,  wild  maiden;  I  will  take  thee  in  my  arms 
that  I  may  renew  my  powers;  and  I  will  shelter  thee  from  the 
caresses  of  the  wind,  and  from  the  burning  kisses  of  the  sun.' 

'O  my  beloved  hero;  if  I  am  dear  to  thee  and  if  thou  wilt 
make  me  thy  companion,  draw  me  forth  from  the  deep  shade  of 
this  rock,  and  I  will  appear  in  the  sunlight,  with  my  heart  full  of 
love.' 

Hercules,  the  brave  captain,  struck  the  rock  with  his  foot  and 
suddenly  he  saw  rise  from  it  a  maiden  quite  naked.  She  was 
white,  she  was  beautiful,  she  was  sweet  and  alluring;  her  golden 
hair  waved  over  her  shoulders. 

Hercules  took  the  maiden  in  his  arms,  pressed  her  against  his 
heart,  and  at  the  contact  he  seemed  bom  again ;  then  he  caressed 
her  sweetly,  and  made  for  her  a  bed  of  odorous  flowers,  a  nest 
hidden  in  the  shadow,  in  shelter  from  the  Sun." 


I 


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